


Transformers: Spacefarers

by SpenName



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 309,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpenName/pseuds/SpenName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on the Transformers Universe. Loosely based on Animated and IDW's G1. The Cybertronian war has expanded across the Galaxy with outposts on every corner. Having spread out so far, the war's stabilization has been compromised causing it to fall into a mess of chaos and violence. Guilds, independent of their faction, and with their own morals and motives, have formed;determined to fight the opposite side on their own terms. Science and engineering practices create weapons and technology that in some cases take a turn for the grotesque. And with the Autobot and Decepticon High Commands losing their power, am inexperienced Autobot Captain under the title of 'Prime' makes a move that will change the face of the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Cybertronians, robotic beings known throughout the galaxy by great many names. Transformers, weapons of destruction, monsters, but most commonly: mysteries. While the Cybertronians themselves claimed to have evolved from levers and pulleys, spawning from the depths of their –now dead- home world of Cybertron, there is not one being in the Galaxy that genuinely knows how they came into existence. At this point however, the organics of the universe couldn't care less about where they came from, but how to get rid of them. What was once considered an evolutionary miracle came to be known better as a plague, spreading across the cosmos, solar system by solar system.

It began the day war broke on Cybertron, and when Cybertron died, its inhabitants took their quarrels to the stars. Unfortunately for the stars, not even the Tyrest Accord could numb the violence. Within the first year, a colony fell when an Energon substitute was found under its bedrock. No one batted an eye. Within the first Century, the entire Galaxy was split between Autobot and Decepticon control. Separating these two factions were a pair of conflicting ideals, order… and conquest, and as the war spread further, these ideals became all the more shrouded. Both factions, Autobots and Decepticons alike branched off into their own separate guilds, factions that still held their previous titles and ideals, yet independent and without the supervision of high command. In time, some questioned whether there was anyone in charge of them other than their Guild leader, for with their numbers so far apart, High command had given up on tracking them all.

Battles for Energon, battles for honour, battles for the hell of it, even those who avoided the conflict were forced to take lives just to ensure their own survival. Where the Cybertronians went, death followed. However, legends tell of a single Cybertronian who will one day turn on his race and end the suffering once and for all. More on him later.

...Much later.

\-----

Cartwheel peered cautiously over the crater’s outer crust, scanning the area through thick, green-tinted binoculars.

                ‘This is bad.’ He said, motioning to his partner. ‘Fourteen outposts in a row, and with this level of precision? That doesn't _just_  happen.’

His partner, a young, peach coloured Autobot twirled a pistol around his index finger, grinning maniacally as he did. ‘So, you thinking what I’m thinking?’

Cartwheel sighed, his optics drawn to his partner’s unnerving expression, ‘The Decepticons are back, aren’t they.’

Horn-Drill hurdled over the craters edge, making his way clearly and carefully down the slope and towards the broken command center in the center of the crater.

                ‘Where are you going?’ Cartwheel called, bounding after the eager Autobot.

                ‘I’m off to kill some ‘cons is where I’m going!’ he exclaimed.

                ‘Horn-Drill!’ the impatient bot sprinted ahead, forcing Cartwheel to shout. ‘Our job is observation! We’re observers, not fighters!’

_VRRRRT_

A high pitched ringing echoed from his belt, it was his communicator. His eyes remaining locked on Horn-Drill, Cartwheel promptly brought his communicator to his Audio-Receptor. A feminine but firm voice spoke through.

                _‘Cartwheel, are you there?’_

                ‘I’m here Sonar, can’t say the same for Horn-Drill…’          

Sonar was one of the chief communication specialists, filtering orders through to the remaining bots under “Head Military Strategist” Prowl’s command, she, like many others in the so-called Autobot hierarchy worked perfectly comfortably in the Autobot Orbital Command Hub where most filtering occurs.

_‘That idiot ran off again, didn't he?’_

                ‘‘Fraid he did. It’s just as Prowl suspected, the base is wiped clean. No survivors.’ Cartwheel upped his pace as Horn-Drill scampered off and into the underbelly of the wrecked base. ‘Hold on… Horn-Drill! You there?’

He called out.

No response.

                ‘Horn-Drill?’

                _‘We’ll get back to you in a minute.’ Sonar replied, ‘retrieve Horn-Drill and return for pickup._ ’ The communicator beeped as the line went dead.

                ‘Cartwheel?’ Horn-Drill called back, ‘I found a survivor.’

Cartwheel darted down the slope, arching around a thick corner to find Horn-Drill leaning over what appeared to be a broken corpse. The body was limbless and nearly headless save for a lower jaw, crowned by a dark, mechanical blob stemming outwards. Something that Cartwheel could only guess was what was left of a brain-module. His torso was gutted, with a large pile of metallic tubes and robotic fluids flowing out from his center. His legs had been crumpled into short, metal stubs.

                ‘Dear Primus…’ Cartwheel said, kneeling next to his partner, ‘you said he was alive?’

                ‘I did.’ Horn-drill pointed at the bot’s trembling lower-jaw. ‘Shit, right?’

Cartwheel shook his head in disgust, ‘Decepticons couldn't have done this, could they? I mean, they’re still Cybertronians, they shouldn't be able to manage…’ he shook his servos at the body, ‘ _this!’_

He felt a sense of uneasiness, though for once it was not by the vivid gore that lay before him. ‘Behind his head. There’s some writing.’

Horn-Drill carelessly pushed the body aside to get a better look. ‘Hey, you’re right. That’s old Cybertronian isn’t it?’

Cartwheel pressed a pair of digits against his lips, inspecting the writing carefully. ‘I can read it.’

                ‘What’s it say?’

                ‘It’s… it’s strange really, it says “waiting”’ he turned to Horn-Drill who stared back at him with widened optics. ‘Any idea what that means?’

But his partner remained staring, wide-eyed and terrified.

                ‘Horn-Drill? What’s wrong?’

In a flash, Horn-Drill whipped out his pistol and fired three shots at Cartwheel. All three of them somehow managed to tear through his cheek and bounce off the large, menacing figure behind him. Grabbing the wound, Cartwheel span around to find himself face to face with a large metallic creature, hidden within the shadows of the building to avoid detection.

Horn-Drill screamed, firing his gun until it ran out of ammo, each shot bouncing off of the creature’s armored plating without so much as a scratch. Before Cartwheel could pull out his own weapon and react, a long, bony tendril struck into his chest cavity, twisting through a maze of wires and gears, piercing his spark casing and letting the energy blow the rest of his torso apart. Stunned, Horn-Drill did the sensible thing and ran, transforming into his drill-tank mode and driving as fast as a drill-tank possibly could, but before he could reach the other side of the crater, the large, metallic creature dropped one of its thin, long, angular legs in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

\-----

Sonar tapped at the keypad again, trying to boost the signal. ‘Cartwheel, are you there? Cartwheel?!’

Her view-screen re-calibrated, just either life signal fizzled and faded into a wave of pixels and data. Massaging the bridge of her nose, Sonar placed her attention to her chief, sitting across from her with his back turned.

                ‘They’re gone.’

Prowl shut his optics, plunging himself deep into thought.

It would be long before Sonar got a response.

\-----

But this story isn't about them… nor is it about the supposed chosen one of Cybertronian myth.

For now, we place our focus on a completely uninteresting looking spaceship, manned by a completely uninteresting looking captain.


	2. A Favor House Optimus

 ‘You said the ‘P’ word.’

                Within the span of the endless void of space, dotted with star clusters, space-dust, comets and asteroids that decorated the universe with hues of red, green and violet, a lonesome golden spaceship flew. It was rather plain in design and had little outstanding features other than the four large thrusters at its rear. Inside was a single Cybertronian, an Autobot. Broad-shouldered and blue, the robot was at a height only just above average with a large, red, upper body, and shoulders adorned with vehicle thrusters reminiscent of an earthen truck’s smokestacks. He was sitting in the dark, facing an active communications monitor, the screen illuminating most of what could be seen within the room. The Autobot was hunched over, holding his head up with a balled hand, completely disinterested in what was being said to him.

                ‘To be perfectly honest sir, I think you’re being just a little bit immature about this.’

The blue robot scoffed, ‘“Immature”… please, we both know who we’re talking about here.’

The bot on the screen had a wide, crimson face, with a golden helm completed with a wide golden crest.

                ‘Prowl just wants to-‘

The blue robot snapped his fingers, jolting up in his seat as he did, ‘There! You said it again, you said the P-word again!’

The golden robot paused, listening to someone on another line, ‘Uh huh... He says it'll only take five minutes.’

The blue robot sighed, ‘Listen Hubcap, within five minutes time he’s going to rant about something official, I’ll tell him off, five minutes turns to five hours, and by the end of the day we all end up with migraines.’

                ‘Oh please…’ Hubcap spoke woodenly, ‘Prowl’s not that bad.’

The communications officer’s unconvincing tone did little to motivate the blue bot, replying with a cold glare that read “are you serious?”

Hubcap sighed, lowering his optic lids, ‘Okay, fine, truth be told, Prowl’s yelling into my intercom right now and he’s reading out something… official.’

                ‘Not fun is it?’

The corner of Hubcap's mouth twitched in relief, ‘Annnnnd that’s the go ahead, I’m putting him on.’

The blue robot’s optic’s widened. ‘No, wait!’

The screen fizzled, it’s image reformatting from the stout, gold communications specialist to that of a taller, more narrow-faced Cybertronian, adorned with a white helm and a sharp red head crest; a pair of metal wings sticking out from his back. Further behind him were a number of robots moving back and forth against the dark backdrop that was the Autobots Orbital Command Hub, carrying out their regular daily duties.

                ‘Damn you Hubcap…’

                ‘Optimus Prime.’ Prowl said, addressing the blue robot, his voice was loud and stern, ‘Under direct orders from Ultra Magnus himself, I am obliged to undergo a progress check and update you… on…’ Prowl paused, taking notice of the loud clicking noise coming from the other end of the video call.

                ‘…you’re trying to sever the connection,  _aren't_  you?’

Optimus ignored him and continued clicking the ‘end call’ button on the monitor’s touch screen. ‘No… yes… it’s not working, tell me why it isn't working Prowl!’

Prowl brought a hand to his face, massaging his right eye lid wearily, ‘I wouldn't know, it’s not like we hacked your ship in order to track you and/or keep you on the line or anything.’

Optimus stopped clicking, and frowned. ‘I didn't say anything about--’

Realizing his mistake, Prowl lowered his hand and spouted into the mic, ‘I’m joking, that was a joke!’

                ‘Oh.’ Optimus leaned back in his chair, accepting the response. ‘Alright.’

The head-crested robot brought one digit down upon the ‘mute-mic’ button and the other to the side of his helm. ‘Attention all tracking units…’ he nodded at the Autobots head communications officer, Blaster, who was across the room and working on a large piece of machinery labeled “Ark Monitor 9000” on its side. ‘He’s on to us.’

Optimus tapped his finger on the button yet again, only this time as an act of impatience. ‘Alright, you might as well go ahead and say what “orders” you have for me’ he paused, ‘say, technically don’t I outrank you--?‘

                ‘For years now, the Decepticons have been lying low’ Prowl said, cutting him off, ‘their leader cloaked in the shadows… and their guilds no longer making any assaults on our major colonies, only setting camp on the planets with the least recognition.’

Optimus crossed his arms and nodded, ‘So they’re hipsters…’

Prowl looked astonished. ‘What?’

                ‘They’re avoiding the mainstream--’ he stopped, waving a dismissive hand, ‘Forget about it. You were just about to say “But.”’

‘They’ve stopped,' Prowl continued, 'as of last week over fifty-six Independent Autobot Squadrons have been burnt to the ground.’

‘And who else but the Decepticons, right?’

Prowl nodded, ‘Precisely.’

Optimus stopped, wondered, and spoke in a quieter tone.

‘It’s a shame, I admit, you know what’s a bigger shame? The fact that it still isn’t my problem anymore.’

Prowl wrinkled his brow, ‘what do you-?’

The Strategist’s optics flared a dangerous cyan light as he slammed either servo against his desk.

                ‘What do you _mean_ it’s not your problem?! You’re a Prime! One of the few commanding officers with a title still connected to high command, one of the few even  _chosen_  for the role! You’re  _not_  like those self-appointing ‘Independents’ like Grimlock, Springer or-or  _Chromia_ , you possess an Ark-Class Spacecraft- despite doing nothing with it for the past decade but fly around, aimlessly through space. You are a Prime-Commander and You. Have. A DUTY!’

Optimus was silent, clasping his servos beneath his chin and taking the time to choose his next words carefully. A stray thought occurred.

‘I’m done with this Primus-forsaken war Prowl, if you need help fighting it, then go ask for the other Primes, whatever happened to Sentinel… or _Override_  Prime?

As much as he hated to admit it, Optimus was nobody special. The mere thought of being biologically related to one of the original thirteen was a rare enough requirement to gain the title of Prime, (being a descendant of Primus himself as required for the title of Magnus was like winning the lottery), But despite that, Optimus wasn't the only Prime, and he was far from the “best” as his primary name suggests. He could recall feeling a sharp sense of embarrassment upon re-reading the files on the currently active Primes nights earlier.

Name: Sentinel Prime

Squadron Title: The Elite Guard

Members: 93

\-----

Name: Override Prime

Squadron Title: The Velocitronians

Members: 127

\-----

Name: Optimus Prime

Squadron Title: Team Prime

Members: 1

It didn't bother Optimus quite as much as it would have the others, but Optimus no longer cared for any sort of competition between him and the dozens of other Primes that scattered the cosmos, leading their own crews into conflict. Prowl’s voice snapped him out of his day-dream and back into attention.

                ‘They’ve either left the galaxy or are all busy guarding the front lines so that we don’t lose any  _more_  territory to the cons, and that’s _still_ not enough.'

Optimus lowered his gaze, prepared to drown out Prowl’s words with his own thoughts if he had to.

                ‘Which is why we need you just as involved’ Prowl continued,  ‘I know you Optimus you may not be the… optimum soldier, but you still have that academy training, and that alone makes you a worthy force for us to utilize.’

When Prowl was without a response, he sighed, and spoke a single word in a soft but characteristically firm voice.

‘Energon.’

Optimus’s optics blinked back towards the screen.

                ‘I know you need some, even Ark Class run out of fuel sometime, so let’s make a deal, you do one or two odd jobs for High Command, and I’ll personally supply you with enough Energon to last you a Megacycle. I’ll even let you choose the job.’

Optimus felt prepared to retort, but instead sighed and raised his arms in surrender, ‘Alright, but it absolutely depends, what are my options?’

The corner of Prowl’s mouth flickered upon reaching victory as he read out the objectives. ‘Option A, there is an asteroid belt blocking the path of one of our trade routes, clear it out and you’ll receive your reward. Option B on the other hand, is just as I had said before, several Independent Guilds have been disappearing and Magnus thinks it could be the result of some sort of newly constructed Decepticon weapon, investigate the occurrence, and if possible, eliminate the threat. So. What will it be Prime?’

Optimus thoughtfully drummed a finger on his face plate that covered the tip of his nose to his chin, pulling himself out of his chair. ‘Okay, just tell Magnus that he need-not worry.’ Standing away from the terminal, Optimus did the most dramatic fist-pump he could muster and winked at the screen. ‘‘Cause those asteroids won’t know what hit them!’

\-----

                ‘Gooooo yoooooouuuur WAY~!’

                Optimus dug a bright orange Energon powered axe into the asteroids tough exterior, sending chunks of space-rock shattering and spiraling off into the distance. The axe’s model was typically used for the clearing of objects for planetary exploration, though Optimus could have sworn he had witnessed fellow soldiers, either Ironhide or Rodimus use one to split a con’s skull once upon a time. With built-in magna-clamps on his legs, the Ark parked on the very asteroid a kilometer away, and a catchy tune in his head, Optimus hefted the large axe out from the asteroid, doubling back as he did so, and preparing to strike again.

                ‘I’ll take the long way ‘round~!’

With no sound travelling through space, the task of striking an axe into a large asteroid became an awkward one with every impact seeming weaker than it actually was. Thankfully, this also meant that no nearby sentient beings would have to listen to Optimus’s singing voice, but that didn't stop him.

                ‘Oh I’ll find me own way down~.’

He prepared another strike into the rock but hesitated, lowering his axe, Optimus found himself staring forward. His mind wandering. His grip tightening.

                ‘As I should…’

He lifted his head and gazed at the stars, he wanted to say they were the one thing in this Universe that never change, but even he knew that stars burned out and died just like the rest of them. In fact, when considering their distance and the rate of the starlight’s travel, the orbs of light Optimus was observing could have very well been extinguished years prior, not that he cared of course; Optimus was never a ‘bot of physics.

He sighed, staring at the multicolored velvet-like dome that was space, stretching endlessly around him and prompting him to wonder: _What am I doing?_

                ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Prowl’s right. I've been doing jack-squat for what seem like years now I- what’s the phrase?’

Optimus paused to think and furrowed his brow.

‘I think I need to ‘’get a life’’.’ He stared at his axe and scoffed scornfully ‘I’m not Grimlock, or Chromia… and I’m far from being Magnus… but that’s where Prowl’s wrong, it’s not because they’re busy warring and I’m not, it’s because unlike me, they still have a goal, a motive, a reason to live. Me, I’ve been drifting the stars with nothing on my mind other than how to avoid conflict, me… I’m  _pointless_.’

He sneered, slamming the handle of his axe into the space rock at his feet. ‘And here I am talking to myself like a maniac, doing maniac cleanup duty under maniac Prowl’s-‘

Optimus blinked, staring at his axe, then the asteroid, then his shuttle and back again.

‘-orders… Why the hell did I think breaking the asteroids one by one with an axe was a  _smart_ idea?’

\-----

                With his axe folded and fixed on the top of his cab, Optimus drove the short kilometer to his ship in his Cybertronian vehicle mode. It was four-wheeled with his rear-most ones noticeably bigger than the front, it was almost reminiscent to that of a “Tumbler”, a vehicle Optimus had observed in a movie back at his old training post. If there was one thing Optimus modeled himself off of both personality wise and build wise, it would be movies. It was also where his tendency to monologue inexplicably came from, as did his tendency to come up with long winded speeches that would end up nowhere. He promised himself he would work on it.

Driving up the ramp and into the Ark-19, Optimus did as his old medical instructor taught him, and grumbled on about his anxieties.

                ‘Idiot… how could I have forgotten about the Ark’s massive guns…? ‘Been so long since I used them I must’ve just forgotten they were there.’

Once inside the Ark and without stopping, Optimus’s body changed. Plating shifted over one another as parts contorted and extended until he was once again in his humanoid form.  

                ‘It seems like I've been forgetting a lot of things concerning the Ark,’ he went on, ‘like it’s landing gear, and it’s massive guns, and fuel levels, and it’s massive guns…’

He slapped himself in the forehead, ‘and I  _still_ can’t stop talking to myself. I must have cabin fever. But then that doesn't make sense, I don’t live in a cabin, so… Ark Fever…? Space Fever…?’ he paused, ‘then what’s disco fever- I blame the Ark!’

Slumping into his command chair, Optimus decided it wasn't worth thinking about and overlooked the main bridge. ‘Still… it’s a nice ship.’ He stared at the empty seats aligning the arching walls.

                ‘Albeit an empty one…’

As he finished his sentence a high pitched whizzing noise filled the room, and in moments, the Ark’s ceiling was torn apart. Pieces of gold metal and multicolored wiring exploded outward as the visage of a turquoise and brown cockpit crashed in front of Optimus. The Prime squeezed the chair’s arms as his optics widened.

                ‘What.’

A full-sized, Cybertronian space shuttle had nosedived into the grounded Ark, sticking out of its roof at a 65 degree angle.

Optimus leaped from his chair. ‘WHAT!’

 

 


	3. Four Troubles

                ‘What.’ Optimus repeated, his legs trembling. The ship had crash landed only a few feet from his command chair and the shock of almost being crushed had an understandably lasting effect. Sparks trickled from cracked monitors and equipment as loose, vine-like cables dropped from the ceiling, draping over the brown ship as they produced white flashes of electricity. A light banging came from the inside of the shuttles cockpit, growing louder with each vibration.

                Optimus readied his axe, prepared for whatever was about to come out, be it Decepticon or worse. With one last vibration, the glass shattered and out fell a large, jet-black Autobot, hitting the floor headfirst and rendering him upside down. The dark robot had a bulky torso with a dark red and black chest piece that appeared to form some sort of angled bulbar, presumably one that would cover his front fender in vehicle mode; he had a deep, dark scar that ran over his right optic from brow to mouth-plate. His shoulders were broad, if only due to the fact that they appeared to form the front of his vehicle mode, but what made the bot stand out most, were the pair of large cannons connected to his lower arms.

Optimus stared at the robot, and the robot stared back, smiling beneath his darkened faceplate.

                ‘Optimus!’ he exclaimed, jumping to his feet, the large Autobot bumbled over to the Prime, punching him playfully in the chest. ‘Who’d have thought that after all this time, in a universe as big as ours, I’d ever see  _you_  again?’

                ‘What.’

                ‘Good to see you haven’t changed!’

Optimus squinted at the bot, he knew he recognized him, but from where, when _?_ Unless… that voice, those mannerisms, all coming together into a form of familiarity that the Prime recognized instantaneously.  He placed his hands on either one of the Autobots wide shoulders and grinned, ‘Ironhide!’

He nodded, grinning back. Ironhide was known fairly well among the Autobots. Having fought in the field for over two decades now, jumping from guild to guild, outpost to outpost, assisting and berating the squads there, but what made him stand out from other freelance Autobots, were his considerable strength, firepower, and stubborn attitude towards the troops who were lucky/unlucky enough to fight alongside him. No one, however, knew him better than Optimus. Having been his training partner and rival during his days in the academy, the two had later found themselves posted on the same backwater planet up until the squadron’s disbandment two decades prior.

                ‘It’s been so long that I barely recognized you and, well…’ Optimus motioned to the bot’s burly frame, ‘you say _I_ haven’t changed, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you, friend.’

Ironhide raised a crooked brow, ‘How do you mean?’

Optimus observed Ironhide, from top to bottom, looking where to start. ‘Well you didn't always have that mouth plate, and your paint... You’re black now, why are you black?’

A small bronze and silver Autobot popped between to two friends causing Optimus to blink in surprise.

                 ‘Oh my God sir, you can’t just ask someone why they're black.’ The Autobot was thin with a scratch-covered and silver chest plate and with bronze arm and leg guards. Silver spines stuck out of the bot’s head in an almost ‘hair’- like fashion as a pair of large, round, crimson optics rotated in place above a bronze mouth plate.

Optimus waved his hand in denial, ‘Oh, no I didn't mean it like that at  _all_  I- um…. Ironhide, who’s this?’

                ‘Oh…’ Ironhide pressed his hands against his hips, blinking at the short, bronze robot. He shrugged, ‘…just some guy I guess.’

The bronze robot squinted at him in irritation ‘Girl…’

                ‘You don’t know the names  _or_ genders of your own crew?’ Optimus said.

Ironhide shook his head, ‘Oh this isn't my crew; we just happened to hitch the same lift.’

                ‘We’re hitchhikers,’ the bronze robot explained, ‘the name’s Cog by the way, thanks for asking,’ she stuck a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing to one of the two robots stumbling out of the ship behind her ‘and right over there, is the guy we hitched with.’

                Sitting with his back pressed against the front-end of the ship was a short, aqua coloured mech with a yellow head crest ornamented with blue, goggle-like ovals above his optics. From what Optimus gathered, the bot was a flyer, as two yellow-striped wings stuck from out of the bot’s lower legs. Perhaps it was the head crest, but there was something about the bot that reminded him of Prowl.

_Uh oh…_  Prime mouthed. From his right came Ironhide, galumphing over to the aqua coloured Autobot in a pace that couldn't have portrayed a more negative aura. Each step from the bulky bot seemed to make the room shake, causing dust and small slivers of debris to fall from above.

Ironhide placed himself in front of the sitting bot, glaring at him intensely. The bot lifted his head in response, unsure of what the large, dark Autobot looming over him wanted.

                ‘Hey.’ Ironhide finally said.

                ‘Hey.’ He said back.

                ‘You appeared to have had some...  _optical dysfunction,_ when choosing where to land…’ with the shake of an arm, Ironhide’s cannon’s clicked together and activated, creating a soft whirring noise. ‘Perhaps I can…  _rectify_ that for you.’

The aqua coloured bot raised his servos above his head in panic, ‘Look man, I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you want to do to my eyes, but frankly, I don’t like it.’

                ‘Funny, my cannons don’t  _like_  you.’

                ‘I don’t know what to tell you guy, because I can honestly say that I have no idea what happened. The ship was on autopilot for crying out loud, you literally just pick a location, press a dial on the remote, and presto, that’s where it takes you. There must have been a splotch of cosmic rust on the warp engine, or a malfunction with the ship’s AI for all I know, because if you can’t already tell, this  _isn’t_ where I wanted to be.’

Before he knew it, Ironhide was looming directly over him, a bright orange energy forming in the barrels of his cannons.

                ‘Is that so? Well you know what  _I_ think, I-‘

Deciding he had seen enough, Optimus placed a heavy hand on Ironhide’s shoulder, pulling him away from the cowering bot.

                ‘Ironhide, stop it.’ Optimus spoke in a stern and firm voice he had used exclusively in his days as a squad commander, ‘this isn't how we do things here, remember?’

Staring at the Prime, Ironhide delivered a perturbed grunt, before lumbering off to find something better to occupy himself with.

                ‘Now then,’ Optimus crouched next to the sitting bot, placing a lighter and warmer hand on his shoulder, ‘What’s your name?’

                ‘Sky-Line,’ the bot answered.

                ‘Well Sky-Line…’ Optimus’s face simpered into a sinister grin, ‘do you happen to enjoy running… frolicking about?’

Sky-Line smiled uncomfortably in hopes to break the tension, ‘Ehh? Not particularly.’

Prime leaned forward, prompting Sky-Line to ask a question he would soon regret

 ‘Why?’

\-----

The next thing Sky-Line knew, he was outside, jogging along the rim of an asteroid, beads of oil dripping down his face and his legs screaming at him to take a rest.

                ‘Great job Sky-Guy!’ Optimus called, making a thumbs-up sign a few dozen yards away, ‘only a few-hundred more laps around the Ark to go!’

Sky-Line cursed through gritted teeth as he continued his trek.

Optimus had stood outside the Ark, his hands placed on his hips in triumph. The ship turned out to be an easy feat to remove thanks to its remote autopilot, and pulling it out of the Ark was a breeze despite its forward thrusters singeing the Ark’s overhead even further. What Optimus found at all difficult about the whole ordeal was adjusting to talk with other Autobots. He had been out on his own for two decades now, flying aimlessly just as Prowl said, and while he was completely willing to stop and assist the needy neutral or organic, Optimus had rarely had any interaction with other Autobots as of late.

                ‘You see Ironhide?  _That’s_ how one punishes someone for wrecking my ship. Laps.’ He shook his head as he reminisced about his days in boot camp, ‘I always hated laps,  _never_ made any sense. The temptation to transform and drive the rest of the way made it even worse, but at least this way we won’t end up with assault charges like the last time you decided to punish someone Ironhide.’

Ironhide shrugged.

                ‘You, my friend, are a monster,’ the grinning, fourth and final hitch-hiker observed. He was a short, dark green bot with a square chest and a blue-tinted visor. He had three red crosses marked on his person, two on either shoulder, and one large cross on his forehead. ‘You must enjoy seeing others in pain, don’t you?’

Optimus sneered, ‘What? Of course not… not  _real_ pain at least.’ He stopped, ‘sorry I haven’t asked yet, what did you say your name was?’

The bot jabbed a thumb at his face, ‘The name’s Incision. I’m a medical officer see?’

                ‘Oh, okay.’

Incision’s grin broadened, ‘You get it? ‘Cause “ _Incision”_ , like how you- you know- like with a scalpel…’

                ‘Yeah, I get it.’

                ‘But- do you really? Cause it’s like when you take a scalpel and create a-‘

Optimus craned his head away from Incision, ignoring him indefinitely, ‘so what’s on your mind Ironhide?’

The dark Autobot had his arms crossed, a shocking feat what with his large cannons normally getting in the way. ‘I was just wondering where Cog went, not messing around with my luggage I hope.’

                ‘Relax; she volunteered to fix my roof. All on her own even.’

Optimus’s communicator rang, ‘That must be her now.’ Answering it, his optics widened in pleasant surprise, ‘Yeah- really, already? You’ve only worked on it for fifteen minutes, are you- great job, that was- that was  _crazy_ fast!’ he lowered his communicator slipping it back into his belt.

                ‘She just finished.’

Incision made a ‘rocking’ gesture with his servos. ‘Damn! Where’d she get her training, ‘cause I want in on it, that way I’d be awesome. More awesome than my name, which is-‘

                Ironhide slammed a fist against the medical officer’s crown knocking him into the large asteroids hard exterior, despite this, Optimus didn't seem to be phased by it.

                ‘Things seem to be looking up,’ Optimus said, watching the stars, ‘we've got a pilot, a medical officer, an engineer, my close friend, it’s convenient that- … ‘

He stopped.

                ‘Prime… you feeling alright?’

He nodded, ‘I’m fine, thank you Ironhide.’ He turned his head away, muttering to himself, ‘…It’s just convenient is all.’

\-----

Sky-Line wheezed as he came to a stop to catch his breath. Hands on his knee-joints, he spat up oil and prepared to run again only to stop himself once again. He checked his six and noticed that the Ark was blocking Prime’s line of vision on him.  _I might as well walk if they stopped watching,_ he thought, and promptly did just that. He raised his upper lip at the thought of the cobalt coloured Prime. ‘’Can’t believe I have to do slag like this under a so-called “Prime”’ he said aloud, ‘why he decided to keep such a false title despite lounging about for the past twenty years I will never understand.’ He spat, ‘If Prowl doesn't pay me extra for doing this I swear I’m gonna-’

He heard the sound of rock crack under-foot from behind.

                ‘Ah… scrap.’ He shut his optics and turned around, prepared to run more laps for what he had said, ‘look sir, I didn't really mean what I said, really, honestly, it’s like a disorder I have, and I especially-‘ he opened his optics to see that it wasn't Optimus he was talking to. Nor was it Ironhide, or Cog, or Incision. Standing before him was a metallic creature with long spindly legs, multiple green eyes held together in a cluster, and a silvery-blue plating that reflected the space around him.

\---

Sky-Line’s screams echoed from behind the Ark’s massive structure, causing Optimus to act immediately, kicking up rock as he sprinted towards the source of the scream.

                ‘Who “AIIIIIIIID’d?!’ Incision demanded, trailing behind him.

                ‘That scream sounded feminine,’ Ironhide observed, ‘something must have happened to Cog.’

                ‘I don’t think so,’ Optimus replied, ‘it came from the other side of the Ark which means—‘

Darting around the corner, Optimus skidded to a stop with Ironhide and Incision in tow. A few meters ahead of him was Sky-Line, or better yet, what was left of him. His left arm was torn open exposing a canvas of circuitry and exoskeleton that reminded Optimus of his dissection studies during his younger days in med-school. His right had been torn off completely and replaced by thick grey wires that leaked a sickening green liquid while his legs were fused together in a mangled mess that would make even the Autobot Chief Medical Officer: Ratchet flinch. His torso had been ripped open, a mosaic of tubes and circulatory capacitors circled a crushed spark, torn out from within and seemingly gnawed at. What disturbed Optimus most from the gory canvas, was Sky-Line’s face, his optics were blocked by a black sludge and his head crest was all but torn off, his glass goggles shattered, and his mouth hung open as if still in mid-scream.

Ironhide appeared unfazed by it, but turned away from the sight regardless, the same went for Incision who merely bowed his head in respect to the dead. Optimus felt as though he were going to vomit. He held it back for the sake of his companions and shook his head thoughtfully. ‘What could have done this?’

                ‘Not the Decepticons.’ Ironhide said, turning back to Optimus grimly, ‘saying they’re bad would be an understatement, but none of them, not even Megatron is capable of doing this.’

                ‘Not on their own, no, but maybe they…’ he paused, ‘maybe they developed something  _capable_ of doing this. _’_  Optimus snapped his fingers, ‘Incision, you’re a medical officer yeah? Can you do a biopsy; see what might have done this to him?’

Incision nodded, ‘Yeah but-- well for one a biopsy might be a little pointless since those are all about the severing and sampling of skin, and without the equipment I-‘

Optimus rolled his optics, ‘Fine, sue me for never finishing med-school, can you make a diagnosis?’

I’ll do what I can.’ The medi-bot kneeled next to Sky-Line and in a flash, several scalpels, syringes and spyglasses flipped out from his wrists. His visor also contorted and shifted into a magnifying glass in one optic and a double-layered scouter in the other.  Optimus felt himself awed by the swiftness in which Incision worked, his digits moving faster than a cyber-fly, and his magnifying glass darting from individual component to individual component as his lips moved non-stop, taking mental notes by the second. Incision stopped, converting his arms and visor back into their stationary modes. He turned back to Optimus and Ironhide who watched him with eager expressions.

                ‘Okay, from the looks of my scans, I can determine with absolute certainty…’

He paused for dramatic effect; Ironhide and Optimus leaned in.

                ‘…that this bot is most certainly dead,’

Both of them groaned,

                ‘I didn't even  _go_ to med-school and I could have figured that out!’ Ironhide snapped, slapping himself in the forehead.

                ‘Are you sure you’re a doctor?’ Optimus asked, folding his arms.

                ‘What do you  _want_ me to say, that he was killed by a Decepticon? I can’t just open his brain and see what happened before he died,  _no one_ can.’

                ‘Er… guys?’

Optimus raised a brow, ‘I wouldn't say no one; there are quite a few cases actually.’

                ‘Prime?’

                ‘What is it Ironhide?’

The dark robot pointed a beefy finger at a large hole carved into the side of the Ark.

Prime groaned, ‘Why is it that I can’t go twenty minutes without someone wrecking my ship?’

                ‘I’d be more worried about what made it than how to fix it.’ Ironhide said.

Incision raised his hand, ‘Hands up, who wants to bet that whatever killed Sky-Line did this?’

Optimus grimaced, ‘Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s in my ship. Which means it’s…’ Optimus spun to Ironhide.’

                ‘Which means it’s hunting us down whenever we are alone!’

                ‘So it’s-‘

Optimus sprinted forward and transformed, driving head-first into the circular hole, ‘its next target is Cog!’


	4. Swinging the Scalpel

            Blow torch in hand, Cog carefully melted together the remaining cracks in the ceiling leaving nothing more than a few scorch marks in its place. The torch tucked itself away within the paneling of Cog’s arm as she stepped down from her step ladder, planting her feet on the hard, metal floor.

_That ought to do it._ She dusted off her servos and prepared to tuck away the latter when she sensed a presence behind her. Dropping the latter, Cog could almost immediately sense that what was behind her wasn’t your typical Cybertronian. The creature raised a thin appendage, preparing to strike as Cog spun around, facing the creature and wielding a large Hydra Cannon that appeared to be twice her size.

                ‘Not today punk!’ the barrel glowed a light cyan before firing a large burst of liquid blue flame that smashed into the creature like crashing waves on a ship. The mechanoid staggered back, giving Cog a better look at what she was up against. It was made of metal. That much Cog was certain of. It was shaped like an arachnid, with a silver plated abdomen and multiple stalk-like legs protruding from the main body, its front end had a pair of blue, spiked mandibles beneath a cluster of emerald optical sensors, all focused on the bronze robot and rotating in curiosity on occasion. On its side was a line of letters and numbers, followed by a purple symbol, A Decepticon one.

Cog prepared another shot only for her weapon to wheeze and sputter due to overheating.

                ‘Damn it.’ She hit the back of her hand against it in hopes of snapping it back into a working condition. The creature advanced its movements clumsy and jagged from the hit it took previously.

                ‘Ironhide!’ Cog whipped her head to the command room’s exit as Optimus, Ironhide and Incision rushed in.

                ‘Open fire!’

                ‘Oh what? I thought we were going to just sit and watch!’ Ironhide quipped, charging his cannons. Orange energy composed within the barrels, brightening until Ironhide could feel the heat against his wrists. With a quick mental command, Ironhide fired two wide beams of orange and blue light, hitting the large parasite dead in its center prompting it to let out a deafening screech. The creature’s legs skittered and skidded as it took another shot to the abdomen. Its massive legs dancing along the metal floor, the creature stumbled, using Ironhide’s cannons’ lengthy recharge rate to flee out the exit-way opposite to the Autobots, disappearing down the Ark’s corridors. Almost immediately, Optimus darted to Cog offering a hand for he..

                ‘You alright Cog?’ he eyed the hydra cannon wrapped around her wrist as she pulled herself up ‘…where did you get that gun?’

                ‘None of your God-damned business, that’s where.’

Ironhide shrugged his shoulders as he approached Cog and Optimus. ‘It’s retreating down the corridor… did you always carry around that gun?’

Cog flung her arms in the air, ‘Isaidit’snoneof yourGoddamnedbusiness!’

Ironhide blinked, and turned to Optimus, ‘speaking of guns, were you-?’

                ‘Nope.’

                ‘Were you holding your axe by the blade… as if it  _were_  a gun?’

Optimus pressed his thumbs together meekly, ‘Er… W-why would I do that?’

Ironhide rolled his optics, ‘I wouldn’t know. I just think we might have had a chance of taking it out if we actually had a little more firepower. Why didn’t you use your Ion Blaster?’

Optimus looked to the side, ‘I… um…’

                ‘What?’

                ‘I returned all my blasters to Wheeljack upon severing my ties. Other than the Ark’s outer cannons, we’re gun-less.’

Ironhide responded with an icy glare, ‘Get out of town…’

Optimus breathed a sigh and turned to Cog and Incision, ‘So in short, Sky-Line’s dead, there’s a monster on the loose in MY ship, and frankly I’m starting to get just a little uncomfortable about all this.’

                ‘Anyone else get a good look at the thing?’ Incision chirped, ‘because in my medical opinion-‘

                ‘I saw some sort of writing on its side,’ Cog cut in.

                ‘Oh… okay.’ Incision turned around, grumbling, ‘go ahead and interrupt the small guy why don’t you… lovely.’

                ‘It read ARA – 003… and had a Decepticon symbol at the end, any idea what that means?’

Optimus and Ironhide exchanged reluctant glances and huffed simultaneously. It was Optimus who spoke up. ‘To be completely honest with you Cog, the only damn I give about what’s printed on that thing is the purple symbol.’

Cog nodded, cocking her cannon as it finished recharging, ‘so we’re fighting… what, some sort of new Decepticon drone prototype?’

                 ‘Something along those lines, yeah. So here’s the brief, just before you guys crashed into me like the Kool-Aid guy on a sugar-rush, I had a vid-call with Prowl. He told me that a sort of anomaly has been wiping out outposts by the dozens, and if I were to guess…’

                ‘That’s what we’re dealing with now.’ Ironhide finished.

Optimus nodded.

                ‘So what’s the plan, man?’ Incision asked.

Optimus clasped his hands behind his back, slowly pacing as he explained. ‘Well for one, if we call high command about this we’ll only be risking even more Autobot lives upon their arrival, and if we’re being realistic, there’s no reason why Prowl couldn’t just set the  Ark to self-destruct, taking us down with it and writing up a report about the “‘heroism’” in our sacrifice.’

Ironhide tapped Cog lightly on the shoulder and leaned towards her audio-receptor, ‘In other words Optimus may or may not want to take the glory for himself.’

                ‘All I want to know is what in the everlasting hell a “Kool-Aid Guy” is.’

                ‘He watches a lot of TV.’

                ‘Oh.’

Optimus continued, ‘In short, our mission is to terminate the drone before it escapes the Ark, or --more than likely-- kill us. First order of business is we split up, and-’

 The three Autobots burst into laughter sending a chill of resentment up Prime’s spinal strut.

                ‘You guys… I’m serous, if we split into groups of two we’ll be able to cover more ground and trap the thing before it escapes and leaves the Ark to kill again.’

Ironhide waved an assuring hand, ‘Okay, okay… just be sure that your death-screams are loud enough so that we know when the drone catches you.’

 -----

                Optimus and Cog had their vehicular lights activated, illuminating the darkened hallway as they advanced. Having severed several circuits during the crash, the Ark’s overhead lights had dimmed to a soft orangey glow as a result of the backup generator’s conserved power. Cog was a few feet ahead of him, peering into each of the rooms with a refreshing sense of curiosity. Optimus remained unsure of how to approach her. He was still introverted from his time in solitude, with little idea how to speak to a single bot let alone within a group. Even Ironhide seemed… distant, and it wasn’t just his change in colour palette that made Optimus feel this way. Was he always this-- what was the word-- Stoic?

                ‘Holy hell.’

Optimus jogged next to her to see what she was on about.

                ‘This ship even has a swimming pool? In all my years as an Engineer I’ve never seen a ship this high strung.’

Optimus scratched the back of his helm, ‘Thanks? I mean it  _is_  Ark Class, only Prime’s and Magnus’s are permitted to them…. High Command still won’t permit me a freaking bar though…’

                ‘Is that right?’ Cog wandered towards another room, outstretching an eager hand only to have it pulled back by Optimus.

                ‘You do  _not_ want to go in there.’

Cog traced Optimus’s gaze of the room, it was compact, but its purpose was clear. It was a prison block. A short row of plexi-glassed cages lined either wall, empty thankfully, but the eeriness of the room remained.

                ‘Why? Is this where you keep all your porn?’ Cog teased, trying to ease the mood.

Optimus glared at her in offense, ‘What? No it’s-‘he paused to massage the bridge of his nose, ‘how do I explain it, this room is connected to a larger electrical circuit, it’s got outlets connected to each of the cells.’ He pointed a digit at a small red box nailed against the far wall of the room. ‘See that console over there? That’s the only thing keeping the circuit from turning this whole room into one massive Taser.’

                ‘But, what’s the point of-‘

                ‘It’s our prison ward, the console deactivates when the glass is shattered. Therefore if anyone tries to get in or out, they get fried.’

Cog nodded in approval, ‘The perfect place for a +porn stash.’

Optimus beckoned her to move on, and the two continued their trek down the corridor.

                ‘There’s something that’s been bothering me.’ Optimus said, staring forward.

                ‘Uh huh.’

                ‘You can fix a roof in minutes, you can pull a large cannon out of nowhere.’

                ‘Uh huh.’

                ‘You don’t expect me to just ignore that do you? You’re kind of a… what’s the phrase, Mary Sue…? No, you’re almost unbelievable, where were you stationed before you hitched with Sky-Line?’

Cog barely made any reaction to the question she was asked, prompting Optimus to wonder whether she had heard him or not.

Finally she spoke, ‘Honestly, I’m not supposed to say this to anyone but… I worked at Kimia.’ She sighed, ‘Yes, THAT Kimia, hence why I’m filled to the brim with size changing equipment, Energon repair rays… classified tech that should never have seen the light of day.’

Optimus brought a digit to his face-plate, ‘I’ve heard rumors of that place. Rumors that they perform mundane experiments and go through terrifying procedures just to help the war effort, it’s just as the rules of the Galaxy state, Rule 1: Never go to Kimia… Rule 2: NEVER go to Kimia!’

Cog chuckled, ‘I can assure you those rumors are false.’ She lowered her head, the spiny, silver bristles poking out from her helm vibrating at a slow pace, ‘It’s  _much_  worse…’

The Prime tilted his head to the side, ‘Well this got a lot more distressing than I hoped,’ he massaged the side of his helm, trying to remember his original point. ‘I think what I meant from all this is that you’re actually pretty helpful, and, well I suppose it’s nice having other people around for once.’

Cog’s optics squinted as a grin arched from underneath her face-plate, ‘If it’s any consideration, I don’t exactly have anywhere to go and- well I might just stick around once this is all over, if you’ll have me of course.’

He reflected her smile, ‘For once Cog, I think I might just like that.’

\-----

                ‘It’s no wonder you don’t have any friends!’ Ironhide bemoaned.

He was paired up with Incision of all bots. Why he still hadn’t bothered to tune out the rambling’s of the smaller green medic was anyone’s guess.

                ‘Look, I’m not saying I think I’m a better doctor than Ratchet, it’s because I AM a better doctor than Ratchet, besides, I have tons of friends, like Sky-Li-‘ he stopped, realizing what he was saying, ‘oh yeah… never mind.’

                ‘You’re lucky Prime convinced me not to inflict any ‘violence’ upon you, because right now I can feel myself gaining the precise urge to rectify your personality, granted you give me any more lip.’

                Incision frowned at the much larger Autobot, ‘Does anything you say ever make any actual sense or… okay, so what about  _your_  friend, this Optimus guy?’

Ironhide glared at the medi-bot with flaring, cyan optics, ‘What about him?’

                ‘What’s he like, I mean what’s he  _really_  like, it’s rare that we see a Prime retaining their rank nowadays. Hell, I doubt most guild outposts are run by anyone other than motivational foot soldiers at this point.’

Ironhide faced forward and sighed as if he knew the topic was going to crop up sooner or later, ‘Would you believe me if I told you he’s actually a huge nerd?’

Incision blinked in what Ironhide could have guessed was false surprise.

                ‘Optimus and I went to boot-camp together, hated each other at first, but stuff happens, yadda, yadda, we learned to tolerate each-other and ended up guarding the same outpost until…’ Ironhide’s fingers dug into the palms of his hands, ‘…until whatever. Knowing him is pretty boring sometimes, he liked to sit around and read to himself a lot, always decorated the base with those pine scented thingies… and he _loathes_ violence.’

                ‘Well  _he’s_ certainly in the wrong place.’

                ‘No kidding. WAY too dramatic, I’m serious; he monologues and comes up with the most pompous speeches all the time, always best to interrupt him before he gets too into it I say.’

Incision stared at his feet, trying to legitimately remember if he had ever met someone who he got to know as well as Ironhide did with Optimus.

                ‘But you know what? He’s also stupidly heroic, in a good way I suppose, helping out anyone he can, I feel like he’s trying to prove something but I just can’t put my finger on what… still, I appreciate having Optimus to rely on.’ He paused, turning around to face the medical officer, ‘It’s always good to know someone’s got your back eh Inc-‘

Standing behind Ironhide suddenly was the drone. One bony stalk stabbing Incision through his mid-section and another into the soft space between the medic’s throat and collar.

\-----

                Optimus and Cog sprinted around the corner, facing Ironhide and the creature as it struck Incision’s body with the force of a jack-hammer, stabbing it until it looked nothing more than a large slab of metal. Ironhide provided fire, only managing foul shots with Incision’s strung up body in the way. Cog placed herself at Ironhide’s side, activating her Hydra-Cannon and firing short bursts of liquid-blue flame at the creature.

                ‘Optimus!’ Ironhide cried out, ‘I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention and he snuck up on me, I’m so,  _so,_  sorry!’

Optimus waved a dismissive hand at the ornery bot, ‘forget about it and focus on the target, I’ll try to think of- wait.’ Optimus pointed at the torn up bot in the drone’s grip, ‘What’s he- Incision!’

Incision lifted a weak servo and clumsily transformed it into a sharp, metallic object.

                ‘What’s he got there?’ Cog asked, dodging a strike from one of the creature’s long tendrils.

                ‘I know what it is…’ Optimus readied his axe, ‘that’s a scalpel.’

Ironhide raised a brow, ‘What’s he need a scalpel for?’

With what remained of his damaged vocal processor, Incision shouted his answer and raised the scalpel high above his head. ‘IT’S FOR APPLYING A MOTHERBOARDING  _INCISION_  IN THE FLESH BABY!’

He swung his arm backwards, stabbing the scalpel into the large cluster of optical lenses on the drone. It let out a loud screech, stumbling backwards and dropping Incision’s body. 

As Ironhide and Cog provided cover-fire, Optimus sprinted forward, slamming his axe against one of the creatures outstretched stalks, and grabbing Incision by his broken collar. He dragged Incision away from the drone as Ironhide and Cog drew back their fire, taking backward steps as it began to catch its balance.

Optimus gently pressed Incision against the wall and knelt next to him, ‘It’s alright buddy, you’re a doctor right? You know what I can do to save you right?’

                ‘Optimus!’ Cog called out.

                ‘Not now Cog…! Look, we’re going to kill this spawn of a glitch, even-  _especially_ if it’s the last thing we do, and it’ll be you who will be tasked with patching us up after, cause that’s what you are, a healer, a fantastic one I bet, and I have all sorts of faith that you can pull us through this, now tell me how I can fix you so that we can-‘

                ‘Optimus…’ Cog was providing cover directly next to Optimus, the drone flailing and screeching in agony, ‘my scans… they-‘

The Prime reared his head, his brow arched in a fit of impatience, ‘what, what is it?!’           

                ‘…Incision’s spark left his body nearly thirty seconds ago.’

His spark sank, no, if Optimus were to describe it, his spark _plunged._

Optimus examined the medical officer and suddenly it all became clear. The large hole in his chest, the cracked, dimmed visor, the brittle state of his damaged frame, the slight smile of triumph on his lips… Optimus stood up, holding back his grief for another time, ‘Aww… no.’

                ‘We need to retreat back to the comms room!’ Ironhide said, his cannons already overheating ‘It may not be able to see us anymore but it can still sense us somehow. It sure as hell can sense being shot at.’

                ‘That’s really not fair.’ Cog said, turning to Optimus. ‘I concur; we can’t fight it.’

Optimus nodded solemnly and waved a servo for them to follow, ‘We run.’ All three robots transformed, Optimus in his four-wheeled truck mode, Ironhide into a compact heavy rig mode with the addition of his combined cannon’s on his ‘roof’ that gave him an almost tank-like exterior, and Cog who transformed into a bronze and silver motorcycle of sorts, with her font wheel larger than her back one. Optimus was unsure whether the drone could still sense them or not, but regardless, he had his thrusters set to maximum.

                ‘Cog, your scanners told you the precise time he passed, correct?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Did he hear any of what I said?’

                ‘I’m almost certain of it, sir.’

The three Autobots swerved into the command center and transformed. As the last one in, Ironhide was the one to spin around and slam the door shut behind him, feeling the force of the drone tackling against it as he activated the locks.

                ‘Tough son of a gun, aren’t yah?’

Ironhide turned to face Optimus and Cog, the former leaning over a computer terminal and punching in a number of keys.

                ‘What are you doing?’

                ‘I’m making a call.’

                ‘To who?’

\-----

Prowl sat in his command chair, counting down.

                ’46…. 45… 44…’ the terminal rang.

 


	5. Questionable Decisions

Prowl raised a rigid brow,  _44 seconds too early. Something must have happened._

He hastily answered the call and watched as Optimus Prime’s visage materialized on the screen. Ironhide was next to him.

                ‘Optimus Prime, I see Ironhide is with you.’ He paused, noting on Prime’s look of distress. ‘Have you cleared out those asteroids ye-‘

                ‘Cut the crap Prowl, I know Sky-Line was working under your orders.’

Ironhide flinched at Prime’s suspicion, but Prowl retained his cold demeanor. There was no point in keeping up the charade, both bots were aware of that, and both bots were just as eager to have the argument settled and done with.

                ‘Alright,’ Prowl admitted, ‘I thought gathering some bots and placing them under your command would motivate you enough to get back into the fight, how did you find out?’

He scoffed, ‘Seriously? My closest friend since boot camp, a medical officer, a pilot and a skilled engineer… Tough guy, smart guy, lancer, girl, you were forming the stereotypical five man band for me!’ He folded his arms, ‘You underestimate my knowledge of movie and television tropes, Prowl.’

Prowl shrugged, admitting his defeat, ‘Very well, and where is the rest of your ‘‘band?’’ I’ve been trying to call Sky-Line and there are some things I’d like to go over with him.’

Optimus and Ironhide exchanged hesitant glances before nodding simultaneously.

\-----

‘They’re WHAT?!’

Prowl was on his feet, his fingers digging into the sides of his control terminal as he received awry glances from the communications personnel passing by his office.

                ‘Do you have any idea how much precision and planning it took for Sky-Line to find three bots fitting the required criteria,  _all_ hitchhiking at the same time?! Can you even  _comprehend_  the mere calculations it took to effectively crash the ship into the Ark and still retain minimum damage?!’

Ironhide fisted the palm of his hand, ‘So he really  _did_  crash the ship on purpose!’

Optimus pressed his thumbs together meekly, ‘I thought you’d be a little more concerned with the dead Autobots than the process it took to get them here...’

                ‘Cog’s the most disappointing loss of all’ Prowl lamented, ‘her credentials and place of work are astounding enough as it is, but now that-‘

                ‘Cog’s not dead.’

Prowl blinked, ‘Oh?’

Optimus nodded and turned around, pointing aimlessly at the room behind him, ‘She’s right over-‘

To his surprise, Cog was nowhere to be found. To his horror, the room’s exit was left wide open.

                ‘Slag, Ironhide, up front!’

Ironhide nodded and dashed towards the exit as Optimus placed both hands on the comms terminal. ‘Prowl, if none of us call you back in thirty minutes, I want you to bring in Sentinel or Rodimus or whoever and have them blow up my ship.’

To say the least, Prowl was taken aback, ‘… Are you certain you-‘

                ‘I  _am_  certain Prowl. I was an idiot before; I thought that I’d be able to handle this monster on my own but I was wrong. I was wrong and I was selfish, I thought you’d have us demolish my ship in order to trap it, or take the glory for yourself, but you know what I realize?  _I don’t care._ I’ll be happy as long as this spawn of a glitch doesn’t live to take any more lives.’

Prowl paused for the briefest of moments, and nodded. ‘Understood, as you command  _Prime.’_

The connection was severed, and without hesitation, Optimus sprinted for the room’s exit. He came to recognize that this was the first time Prowl had ever spoken to him in the way he would another superior officer, let alone a sentient being. He had an inner loathing for Prowl ever since he got promoted over him those two decades ago, but seeing him nod in approval over the comms channel gave Optimus a sense of pride he couldn’t recall having prior. He peered down the corridor, calling out names. ‘Ironhide… Cog?’

Optimus heard gunshots and sprinted towards the source. He came to a stop as he skidded around the first corner, nearly bumping into Ironhide’s vehicle mode. Cog was with him, both unloading clip after clip at the large drone as it crawled across the ceiling.

                ‘Move!’ Ironhide urged, firing his vehicular cannon as he backed himself up. Optimus transformed, alongside him.

                ‘What are you two doing?!’

                ‘I have a plan.’ Cog remarked, activating her vehicular weaponry as the drone advanced. ‘Just follow me.’

Ironhide and Cog did a 180, driving in the opposite direction of the drone, whose long lunges proved to be a faster form of travel than at first glance.

                ‘It’s faster than us.’ Ironhide said, grimly.

                ‘We’ll make it.’ Cog assured.

                ‘No.’ Ironhide transformed. His legs slamming against the floor and leaving a trail of sparks behind him, ‘we won’t.’

Optimus felt his spark bounce in his chest, ‘Ironhide, what are you doing?’

Ironhide fired a charged blast from his arm cannon, hitting the drone dead centered into its shattered optic-cluster and sending slivers of shaven metal and flakes of singed plating ricocheting in multiple directions. ‘You guys do what you need to do; I’ll hold him off for as long as I can.’

                ‘And after that?’

Ironhide did not respond, only taking the time to block a strike from one of the drone’s long appendages.

                ‘Damn you Ironhide.’ Optimus’s tires screeched against the floor as he tailed Cog. ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t survive this.’

Taking the lead, Cog swerved around yet another corner and into a familiar looking room with Optimus in tow.

                ‘This is…’ Transforming, Optimus came to terms with Cog’s plan the moment he set eyes on the first cell, ‘this is the prison block.’

Cog placed a servo against one of cells, watching as the warmth from her fingertips formed an imprint on the glass. ‘If we can manage to lure it in here, we should be able to trap it and zap it into stasis.’

                ‘Or death.’

                ‘That too.’

Optimus nodded, ‘Now the question is how the hell we’re going to get it into a ce-AAGH‘

The creature’s spear-like stalk pierced through the back of Optimus’s calf and out of his kneecap, inducing a loud scream from the Prime. As if by instinct, Optimus unfolded his axe, swinging it into the long appendage protruding through his leg and emitting a satisfying  _crunch_ into the drone’s bone structure. With a quick application of force, Prime’s axe cleaved cleanly through the creature’s leg, severing himself from the drone’s grip. The mechanoid screeched and stuttered backwards allowing Cog to drag Prime out of its reach.

Optimus attempted to stand only to fall back on his knees. ‘I can’t- I can’t stand, there’s a splinter of the drone’s leg locked in one of my joints!’

                ‘Relax.’ Cog tried to sound assuring as she emptied another round into the creature to keep it back, ‘we can just pull it out and-‘

Optimus sat up straight, reaching forward with trembling fingers, ‘PRIMUS NO!’

 Cog placed a warm hand on his shoulder as the drone drunkenly bumped against the sides of the entryway. ‘It will only hurt for a second, besides that’s… that’s not-‘Cog stopped herself and followed Prime’s gaze. Dropping from the creature’s shuffling mandibles was a severed and torn limb, digits all but torn off and wires sprouting from both ends, the only part of the limb that appeared untouched was the large barrel-like cannon connected to the wrists. It was an arm. Ironhide’s arm.

Cog wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t. Instead, she stood up, and followed her initial plan.

                ‘C’mere big boy!’ she taunted, firing a round into the drone’s jowls. The drone caught her scent and shook its body like a wet dog, squeezing itself through the doorway awkwardly. Cog darted away from Optimus and into the nearest open cell, drawing the drone’s attention to her.

Optimus crawled next to the severed limb, pulling it towards his stomach like a child to a stuffed animal. The drone’s shadow passed over him as it set its attention on the bronze engineer in the cell.

                ‘Cog!’ he called out, ‘what are you doing?!’

                ‘It’s the only way this will work, trust me, I’ll be fine!’

Optimus tried to move only for the pain in his leg to spike. ‘Don’t  _do_ this to me Cog, not after Ironhide… Incision.’

Cog fired all that was left from her Hydra Cannon as the drone entered the cell with her, ‘If you want to help, hit the emergency locks, at least then what happens here won’t be without a point.’

Optimus didn’t know  _what_ he planned on doing, but the first thing that came to mind was to rip the splintered metal stalk out from his leg. The sliver was in deeper than it looked, but it was nothing in comparison to Optimus’s agitation. He let out a throbbing roar as the appendage came free from his leg, black and blue liquids spurting out from the newly formed scar. The pain remained, but at the very least he could stand. Without a second thought, Optimus dashed to the emergency lock adjacent from the cell and swung Ironhide’s arm like a club, smashing the panel with it and setting the glass cage to close off.

                ‘I did it…’ he swung his head to the cell in question, ‘I did it Cog, I-‘

To his despair, the drone was far from trapped, it’s abdomen stuck between the glass doors, forcing their way shut. It was standing above Cog’s broken and lifeless body. Optimus wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not that the bulk of the gore was shrouded by the creatures shadow, but regardless felt a growing sense of dread when he realized that Cog’s plan had failed, well, initially at least.

He circled the wriggling drone and came to a stop in front of a glass cell at the opposite side of the room.

                ‘I’m sorry Cog, but I don’t think your plan worked.’ His grip tightened on Ironhide’s arm, ‘so let’s try mine.’

The drone retreated a stalk into its ‘person’ and used it as a saw to sever one of its hind legs from the main abdomen, setting itself free from the closing door.

                ‘I knew it, you really  _are_ intelligent.’  Optimus dropped his axe, ‘You’ve killed everyone else yeah? That just leaves you --a biologically  Decepticon super weapon--, and me, --a pointless Prime who’s made too many questionable decisions for a lifetime--, or perhaps in your optics, ‘prey.’

The creature stared at him.

‘Well?’ Optimus put his foot down and spread his arms to either side, ‘You’ve already killed everyone else so why not finish the job, what are you waiting for? COME. AND.  **GET ME!’**

Optimus was tackled with what seemed like the force of a freight-train, crashing backwards and shattering the plexi-glass cell behind him. The next thing he knew, he was on his backside, shards of glass digging into his spine and using whatever strength he could to keep the drone’s mandibles from tearing off his face. He cursed the systems lack of response and instantly regretted not upgrading when he could. ‘Stupid low Energon reserves…’ taking the risk, Optimus walloped the creature with one arm and used the other to aim Ironhide’s cannon at the red box on the far wall behind the drone. Firing a single blast, the console exploded violently and in the span it took for the creature to pin Prime’s arm to the ground, the room worked accordingly and erupted with electricity. The massive shocks surged throughout either robot, leaving them both with a deathly pain aching throughout their entire bodies. Optimus couldn’t recall taking a hit worse to this prior, but at the same time felt a sense of triumph regardless of it. As long as the drone died with him, he would be forever satisfied. Just before shutting off however, Optimus felt a violent servo grab his arm.

\-----

                Optimus wasn’t sure how long he had been lying on the cell block’s floor, but whatever the time, he wasn’t alone. He wanted to jolt upward and ask a thousand questions, specifically, “Why am I not dead?” but his wounds had taken his toll. He felt like death and if he really wanted to, was prepared to fall back into stasis without a moments hesitation. It was the sound of the familiar voice that helped him focus.

                ‘’Bout time you woke up.’

Optimus turned his head, too weak to smile. Sitting cross legged next to him on the floor and covered in bruises, slash marks and scrapes was Ironhide. He was manually reattaching his arm with a miniature blow torch built in to his index finger.

                ‘Ironhide…’ Optimus sat himself up groggily and stared at his friend, ‘Am we dead?’

Ironhide scoffed, ‘What, you didn’t think  _I_ was going to die did you?’

Optimus stared at him deadpanned, ‘How?’

                ‘I played dead,’ Ironhide said reluctantly, ‘It wasn’t hard when you have anemia, what with the Energon loss caused from having my arm ripped off and all.’

                ‘But… doesn’t that hurt?’

                ‘What does?’

                ‘Your arm.’

Ironhide cringed, ‘Like hell, it does.’

                Optimus faced the cell across from them, the one where he had last seen Cog. From where he was sitting, he could not see her, but he knew she was still there.

                ‘I didn’t move her yet,’ Ironhide said, ‘she didn’t die quite as… messily as the others so-‘

                ‘No.’ Optimus raised a swift hand, ‘Stop, I don’t want to hear it.’

Ironhide nodded solemnly, testing the joints in his arm as he made the finishing touches. ‘I didn’t touch the monster either.’ He said, motioning towards the cell behind Optimus. Behind the glass was the motionless drone lying flat on its stomach. ‘I can’t tell whether it’s dead or in stasis lock since, well, the shock only lasted a couple of minutes before the backup generators started running and God knows how much punishment that thing can take, luckily your special Ark class glass managed to re-stitch itself, so regardless we won’t have any zombie spiders to worry about.’

Optimus nodded slowly, ‘…Thanks for pulling me out when you could Ironhide… I appreciate it.’

Ironhide snapped his fingers and pulled a touch-screened communicator from his belt, ‘Speaking of zombie spiders, I tapped in with Prowl for you, he’s actually been waiting for you over the phone.’ Ironhide handed Optimus the touch-pad. Pictured on it was Prowl’s eager expression, prompting him to wonder how long he was asleep for. His arms weak, Optimus lifted the weighted pad in front of his face so he could at least get a better look at the screen through his oil crusted optics.

                ‘Optimus Prime.’ Prowl typically greeted.

                ‘P-Word.’

Prowl disregarded the odd address and got to the point, ‘Ironhide informed me of your success, I would like to enlighten you that high command wishes you Kudos for your victory.’

                ‘Three people died today.’

Prowl raised his upper lip, ‘ _Billions_ died today, and with the rate this war is going, billions will die tomorrow, and the next day and so on. But after what you did here, stopping that abomination, many more deaths will be prevented.’ He stopped, understanding that what he said wasn’t what Optimus wanted to hear. ‘I’ll have a team sent to collect their bodies within twenty-four hours. They’ll be given proper funerals, I can promise you that.’

                ‘I still don’t forgive you for forcing me into the same situation I’ve been trying to avoid for the past twenty years you know.’

                ‘So, I take it you won’t be reconnecting with High command any time soon?’

The connection was severed, giving Prowl his answer. The strategist stared at the darkened screen for what felt like minutes, ‘Optimus… you’re the one Autobot I can just barely predict.’ He turned to the large figure looming over him, ‘I still don’t understand what you see in him.’

The figure was large, much more so than your average Autobot; with massive white shoulder pads towering above his head and limbs that could crush the life out of said average-sized bot. He had similar colours to Optimus himself only with a predominantly blue scheme and a much bulkier frame. Clipped neatly under his collor was a perfectly erect name tag that read what Prowl thought was the longest title in the history of the Autobot accord.

_Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord and High Commander of the Autobots:  Ultra Magnus_

‘Potential, Prowl’ Ultra Magnus said, ‘I see  _potential.’_

\-----

Prime kept his optics fixated on the communicator and allowed himself grin, ‘I’ll never say it to his face, but I’m a little thankful for what Prowl’s done, I probably wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for you guys. Eh Ironhide?’

                ‘Optimus… the drone.’

                ‘What about it?’

                ‘It became a…  _sexy.’_

                ‘Heheh…’

He paused.

Then, Optimus twirled his head to follow Ironhide’s gaze. ‘What?’

Inside the cell was a Cybertronian. The bot had the same general silver and black colour scheme as the drone, but appeared smaller. She had large shoulder pads that made up the abdomen, and a crumpled chest-piece that would form the creature’s head. Her helm was golden with four, narrow optics peering out from within. ‘Oh!’ she leapt to her feet, ‘it’s happened! It’s actually happened.’

Optimus and Ironhide stared at her dumbfounded.

                ‘Yes, YES! I remember now, he said I would gain a proper conscience at the same time my T-Cog activated. Wow, so many things all at once- ARMS, I have arms! Wicked! And legs...! Well I already had quite a few of them already but… oh hey! The voice in my head stopped too, no more “KILL, KILL, KILL” Repeating over, and over… again, and again, thinking is pretty neat when you think about it. Hah!’

 She marveled at the duo and began to clap her new, inexperienced hands awkwardly together, ‘Congratulations! You’re the first ones to defeat me and force me out of arachnid mode!’

Optimus stepped forward cautiously. ‘You’re a Cybertronian?!’

                ‘A meta-gene, biologically enhanced Cybertronian, bred in the labs of New-Kaon… but a Cybertronian nonetheless.’

Ironhide charged his cannons, pointing either one of them at the drone’s humanoid form.

                ‘“Ironhide, lower your weapons”’ the prisoner imitated, turning to Optimus, ‘That’s what you’re supposed to say, right?’

Optimus folded his arms, ‘Ironhide, keep your weapons trained on her, aim for the head.’

                ‘Or not.’

The Prime leaned against the glass, glaring at the imprisoned femme, ‘I  _know_  you’re up to something. You’re smiling; Decepticons never smile in this sort of situation unless they have something planned. What the _hell_ are planning?’

Just as he feared, her smile refused to falter, ‘Idiot, out of the dozens of Autobot colonies I’ve torn asunder, ranging from around 50 to 100 bots, the two of you and those three lightweights managed to be the very first to capture me, let alone force me into stasis. Luckily, Megatron had a _backup_  for that, the moment I utilized my T-Cog, a signal was broadcasted to the Decepticons head flagship, announcing my defeat and transmitting my location. And now, heh,  _now_ the most powerful Decepticon is coming to clean up the mess.’

Her grin broadened as she bared witness to the expressions of fear plastered across the Autobots faces, ‘That’s right boys,  _Megatron_ is coming.’

\-----

Miles and miles of space away, The Nemesis warped.

_And he’s coming to kill you both._

 

 


	6. The Decepticon Armada

 Optimus Prime scrambled over scattered equipment and tech as the Decepticon “drone” rambled on within her cell.

                ‘Blackarachnia… yeah, that’s my name, I think. Either that or it’s whatever I ate before transforming.’

                ‘Would you shut up?!’ Ironhide gasped, tapping furiously at his communicator in hopes of reaching the Autobot Orbital Command Hub.

The Decepticon scoffed. ‘Oh please, my mind has been downgraded to a lowly drone with the mental capacity of an animal just so that I could carry out my orders without hesitation. Now that I have it back, there are such fewer restriction on my mental prowess, see now I can say whatever the hell I want; or better yet I can choose  _not_ to listen to you.’

Ironhide growled and punched his digit into his communicator’s touch-screen.

                ‘Hah, idiot, that won’t work,’ Blackarachnia heckled, ‘The Nemesis is bound to have blocked any form of communication between you and the rest of your pals. So good luck making a bigger fool of yourself.’

                ‘ _Dammit!’_ Ironhide chucked the communicator against the wall and watched as it broke apart into tiny pieces of glass and wiring. Beaten, Ironhide folded his arms and slumped against the glass cell opposite to Blackarachnia as Optimus re-entered the cell block.

He was empty handed and gently scratching at his wounds as he spoke, ‘Prowl said he’d send a pickup crew within twenty-four hours… we can’t wait that long.’ He stopped between Blackarachnia’s cell and Ironhide, ‘The Ark doesn’t have enough power for us to run, and Sky-Line’s ship is too damaged to ensure a safe flight. We’re going to have to fight this one out.’

                ‘There’s no point.’ Blackarachnia sighed, ‘Megatron is going to kill you anyway, he’s going to kill you, then set me free.’

Optimus could feel his patience failing, ‘I somehow doubt he’ll be that kind to you…’ he slumped next to Ironhide, ‘but she’s right, I’m barely a squad leader let alone a Prime and here we are up against the Decepticons  _leader_ the guy who _founded_ them for crying out loud. Not to mention the amount of damage-‘ he paused as Ironhide’s arm fell out from its socket and clanged against the floor. The dark Autobot picked the limb up, and reluctantly melded it back in place, ‘…the amount of damage we took already.’

Blackarachnia nodded contently, ‘Damn right.’

Ironhide looked up from his re-fixed arm and brought a digit underneath his chin, ‘What if… no.’

Optimus faced him eagerly, ‘What is it?’

                ‘Never mind, it’s nothing.’

                ‘It’s  _not_  nothing, literally  _anything_ can help us at this point, what are you thinking Ironhide?’

                ‘Well it’s-‘ Ironhide shook his head, obviously as displeased about what he was considering as he knew Optimus would be, ‘It’s, well, Cog had a repair ray built into her right? Well we could—I could reach into her and pull it out since she’s—well-- not using it any time soon.’

Optimus was prepared to retort with a speech, no, a lecture on the respect for the dead. He was ready to do it, ready to let his rage and bafflement towards the idea fuel a long verbal attack. But he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. He held these temptations back through gritted teeth.

                ‘Fine. Do it.’

Ironhide nodded and stood up, staring aside at the cell in which Cog’s body lay, ‘You don’t have to watch, in fact why don’t you go out and search Sky-Line’s ship for supplies that might help us through this.’

Optimus nodded slowly and stood up, ‘I think that’s what I’ll do.’

As he made his way out of the cell block the taunts from Blackarachnia filled his audio receptors.

                ‘What’s wrong Autobot? Afraid to see a little blood?’

Optimus drowned out her voice and marched on, unsure whether he would live to see the end of the day or not.

\-----

                The Nemesis was the flagship of the Decepticon Empire. A dreadnought of massive proportions, built with its own set of sharp edges and inhuman shapes, all the better to strike fear in the enemy and awe-inspire the Decepticons around it. It had hundreds of rooms, hab-suites and facility’s for those lucky enough to travel aboard it, and was equipped with highly acclaimed and well-regarded weaponry, capable of taking out half of an organic city with a single strafe. However, the once gleaming violet halls had begun to mold, and many of the hab suites had become vacant with the Decepticon army’s current state of disorderliness over the past twenty years. Like the Autobots, Decepticons such as Bludgeon, Onslaught and Garboil had already formed their own independent units working outside of Megatron’s jurisdiction, gaining their own set of followers in the process. Indeed the Decepticon hierarchy had become an even worse mess than the Autobots in recent years, of course, with the few hundred or so followers Megatron still had, he needed few of them at his disposal for his plans to process, for other than him, there were only four other Decepticons on board the ship.

                Thundercracker rubbed his optics in a daze. He was a Seeker, one of the many hundred warriors in the Decepticon Aerospace Legion under Starscream’s command; he was light blue with pointed wings and had orange and silver highlights across his frame. He did not look like a typical warrior as his limbs were thin for a seeker’s standards, and by any one bot’s perspective, Thundercracker looked very… average, more so considering his larger chassis, but when placed next to his trine of Starscream and Skywarp, it was obvious which of them was the runt of the litter. It had been long since he was treated to a good night’s rest and the constant flashes of violet light sparking throughout the Nemesis’s bridge only added to his building irritation. ‘I will never understand how this happened.’

                The light flashed an inch in front of Thundercracker’s face, replacing itself with a tall, dark seeker, similar in design to Thundercracker but with a much bulkier frame. ‘What do you mean?’ the black and purple robot, better known as ‘Skywarp’ asked before disappearing in another flash of light.

Thundercracker massaged the side of his helm with two digits, unsure of where to start, ‘Well let’s see, you disappear for three months, you don’t answer any of my calls, and then, without further notice mind you, you come waltzing back with no recollection of said months, and-- oh yeah, the ability to teleport!’

Skywarp teleported upside down, hovering above Thundercracker contently, ‘Yeah, that’s about it, sounds like a typical night at the pub if you ask me.’

                Thundercracker opened his mouth to speak but found himself interrupted by a loud, obnoxiously fake cough. It came from the third robot standing on the bridge, a dark seeker that Thundercracker as well as any other knowledgeable Decepticon knew perfectly well as Starscream, the Aerospace Commander of the Decepticon Armada. While Starscream was generally the same size as both Thundercracker and Skywarp, his longer wingspan made him stand out as the most threatening of the three (something Thundercracker would have guessed he had configured on purpose.) He was red and silver in colour, with black and gold highlights on his head and broadened shoulders. His wings were fitted with a pair of large thrusters that faced upwards while his legs were bent with an extra joint between his knee and his ankle. He stood with an arched back and a self-glorifying stance. His expression as he turned to the others however, was grim.

There was a moment of pause before Starscream spoke, ‘You were speaking during my soliloquy.’

Thundercracker was aware Starscream was muttering  _something_ , but was too tired to pay any proper attention to his commander’s words.  ‘Oh! Yeah, right, sorry Screamer, I wasn’t aware that you were—um…’

                ‘Talking to yourself,’ Skywarp finished.

Thundercracker scowled at his flying partner, ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say.’

                ‘You’ve said enough.’ Starscream replied, making a dramatic gesture as he glared at the blue robot, ‘just remember next time, that you will from this point onwards address me as Commander Starscream,  _not_ “Screamer”, screamer makes me sound like a… a screamer.’ He arched his upper lip in disgust, ‘and I might as  _well_  be talking to myself, mind you, as there don’t appear to be any signs of intelligent life on this craft anyhow.’

_Idiot!_ Thundercracker thought. Starscream believed hewas the most intelligent on board. But Starscream was nothing but another war-mongering scoundrel in Thundercracker’s eyes, living for nothing more than to kill and try to make himself look good while doing it. To Thundercracker, Starscream was far from the most intelligent on board the Nemesis. To Thundercracker, that was  _him._

Starscream cleared his throat, ‘Now, for my soliloquy… a yes.  _For as I am deeply humbled to be chosen for such a mission, it is only understandable that Megatron would choose his most adept combatant to fight for him in-_ ‘

                ‘What about Soundwave?’

Starscream frowned at Skywarp who hovered in place next to Thundercracker, ‘What about him?’

Skywarp folded his arms in thought, ‘Well, he is a pretty…  _smart_  guy, a proper soldier from what I hear at least, been a part of the Decepticons since, like, forever.’

                Starscream growled, ‘Soundwave is an uncharismatic bore who weaseled his way into the Decepticon High Command through aft-kissing and blackmail, he is in no way skilled enough to deserve such a position of power! He’s a pompous fool, a fan boy, he’s a…a- he’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?’

                Skywarp burst into laughter as Starscream turned around only to find himself faced with the Decepticons Communications head: Soundwave. Bulkier than Starscream and just as tall, Soundwave stood in a typical military fashion as expected from someone as obedient as himself, a far cry from Starscream’s more laidback and snobbish posture. He was silvery-blue with a maroon coloured faceplate and highlights, his face was hidden behind a dark blue visor whereas four, pink tinted optics could only  _just_ be spotted from up close. He had wide ovals of blue light located across his chest and down his arms,  arms that were long and thick, stretching abnormally to his ankles rather than the conventional ‘just below the waist’ giving off a sense of eeriness. This appearance was just one of the many elements that attributed to the limited amount of people that would consider Soundwave a friend, let alone a likeable acquaintance.

The two cons glared at each-other for what felt like minutes until the softest sound emitted from Soundwave’s maroon faceplate. The communications officer moved away robotically from Starscream, reading the schematics on a nearby console and tapping in inputs on the keypad below.

Starscream glanced wearily at the idle Skywarp and Thundercracker, pointing a trembling digit at Soundwave as he did. ‘Did he just-- he laughed just now, didn’t he?’ He craned his head back to Soundwave, ‘who do you think you are? Laughing at Aerospace Commander Starscream?!’

Skywarp leaned towards Thundercracker, ‘ _He’s speaking in third person again.’_

The blue robot waved a dismissive hand not to encourage him.

Soundwave barely seemed to notice, focusing his attention to his work on the monitor, his voice was low and monotonic, as if he had no soul whatsoever. ‘I recollect that the Aerospace Legion’s progress in the war front has been minimal at best…’

Both Thundercracker and Skywarp watched on as Starscream’s rage built ‘And you think you’re  _so much better_  than us? What do you even  _do?’_

Soundwave raised his head, ‘I have contributed exponentially to the formulation of Lord Megatron’s grand plan. I was also the one who made the suggestion to apply Shockwave’s prototypes to good use, which is indefinitely more than anything the Aerospace Legion has accomplished in its wasteful expenditures and pointless conquest of organic colonies these past years.’

                ‘Bah!’ Starscream made a rude gesture and stomped away from the comms head, ‘I don’t even know what you’re  _doing_ here, shouldn’t you be performing maintenance checks and comm frequencies back at New Kaon?’

Soundwave shrugged slightly, ‘I suppose Lord Megatron simply requires at least  _one_ reliable soldier under his command at a time.’

Skywarp proceeded to make a whooping noise as Starscream sneered, ‘I bet you  _begged_  Megatron to take you on this mission, just so you could be…’ he grinned slyly, ‘- _alone_ with his Lordship.’

                ‘Actually I think I agree with Soundwave.’ Three sets of optics all turned to Thundercracker who clasped his hands together before his lap, ‘I mean, we really have been going overboard with the-- you know, pointless killing. I can’t for the life of me recall the last time we actually fought an Autobot.’

Before he knew it, Starscream was already upon him.  Tightening his grip around Thundercracker’s throat, lifting him off of the ground and above his head. ‘Perhaps I should tutor you further in the long, harsh lesson I like to call: “how to speak when spoken to.”’ Thundercracker wheezed heavily as Starscream’s grip overwrote his rational thought. He grappled at Starscream’s fingertips only for the Aerospace Commander to sneer and chuck him carelessly into Soundwave bulky exterior, knocking him gently into the console he was working at.

                ‘Feh,’ Starscream proceeded to dust himself off, ‘it appears that some of us still need a reminder on who’s in charge.’

Thundercracker prepared to lift himself off of the cold, metal floor only for Soundwave to dropkick him square in the gut, prompting Starscream and Skywarp to roar in laughter.

                ‘Look Skywarp!’ Starscream mused, ‘Even the least popular Decepticon of all time hates Thundercracker for his pussy-footing!’

As Starscream tilted his head back to laugh, he was met with a large force in the form of Thundercracker, having been hurdled into the Aerospace Commander by one of Soundwave’s powerful throws.

Starscream fell backwards from the sudden weight against his torso, landing hard on his back. He cursed, and shoved the blue seeker of him before massaging the parts on his head that made contact with the floor.

                ‘You have no right to strike the Air Guardian of the Decepticons!’

                ‘And you have no right to damage my equipment.’

Starscream leapt to his feet and proceeded to berate Soundwave in a jagged and rage-fueled lecture that was responded with the occasional two to three syllabled phrases as Skywarp watched. A large silver and blood-red robot stood next to him, either hand placed neatly behind his back.

                ‘So, what have I missed?’ the silver robot asked.

                ‘Not much.’ Skywarp replied, ‘Starscream and Soundwave got in a fight again… oh, and Thundercracker got beat up as well.’

                ‘Oh.’ The silver robot said, ‘I wonder how Megatron will feel about this.’

Skywarp shrugged, ‘Oh I don’t know, you should probably ask him your-‘ he stopped, turning to face the silver robot.

He was big. At least a head taller than Starscream and Soundwave and with broad, rectangular shoulders that evened out his width as well as his length. It seemed as though everything about the silver bot gave off a strong sense of power. Of course, this was to be expected, for he was the Decepticons founder and leader, Megatron.

Skywarp nearly screamed like a girl upon the sudden appearance of his master. At once, Starscream, Thundercracker and Soundwave reacted at once and straightened themselves into military stances.

                ‘Lord Megatron.’ Starscream addressed, bowing greedily, ‘On behalf of us all I would like to apologize for not  _seeing_ you there. You appeared to have snuck up on us while Soundwave and I were in a… debate of sorts.’

Megatron moved briskly to the edge of the bridge, eyeing the readouts on the main screen and punching inputs into the holo-keys below. ‘Soundwave, status report.’

                ‘From what I’ve managed to gather, we should be nearing the location of the squadron that defeated the drone, however, due to Starscream’s incompetence, the scanning console has been reset. Tracking the target Autobots will take somewhat longer than desired because of this.’

Megatron tilted his head to the side and raised a powerful arm. Swinging it backwards and striking Starscream square in the chest, sending him hurdling backwards and crashing into the back wall. He did it so naturally that it almost looked like he was stretching a limb.

Starscream’s face morphed into a snarl as he fisted the ground, ‘Tattletale…’ he grumbled.       

                ‘Pardon me…’ the Decepticon leader said offhandedly as he clasped his hands behind his back once more, ‘Soundwave, can you scan for any nearby energy readings with what we have now?’

Soundwave nodded and moved to the nearest console, tapping in commands to the Nemesis’s tracking system. ‘That’s… irregular.’

Megatron raised a brow. ‘What is it Soundwave?’

                ‘My apologies Lord Megatron, but either Starscream has done more damage to the system than I initially thought… or the Nemesis has only detected two Autobot Life Signals within the vicinity of the drone.’

There was silence on the bridge as the five Decepticons exchanged skeptical glances.

                ‘… Put Slipstream on the line.’

                ‘Of course, Lord Megatron.’

In moments, the bridge lit up as the holographic representation of a black and green seeker materialized around them. She had the same general body type as Starscream but with a noticeably different transformation, clearly fitted with something closer to a pitch black stealth jet than that of a flashy fighter craft. Her head sculpt was also adorned with thinner appendages, most notably being the long elf-like audio receptors on either side of her head. Standing next to her were a pair of seekers, one crimson and gold, --his wings lowered in an almost cape-like fashion, and the other bulkier with silver and grey colours, a pointed head, and wings located on his legs rather than his back. There was a prideful look plastered across Slipstream’s face.

                ‘Lord Megatron, all ninety-eight troops are patiently awaiting your orders, are we to attack now or-?’

                ‘Slipstream, take the legion and return to Kaon for further instructions, this does not require your assistance.’

Slipstream frowned out of what seemed to be more or less out of shock than of disappointment, ‘If… that’s what you propose. Alright then, we’ll pull out and uh… call us when you need us I suppose.’

She turned to the two Seekers behind her, ‘Sunstorm, set co-ordinates to New Kaon. Ramjet, cut the feed.’

In seconds, the hologram dissipated leaving four very stunned Decepticons facing Megatron.

                ‘Megatron, I…’ Starscream hesitated as he tried to form the proper words, ‘Is it er…  _wise_  to send our backup away before even assessing the situation? Surely my armada could be of  _some_ use to-‘

                ‘We don’t need them.’ Megatron said flatly, ‘We’ll deal with this situation hands on.’

Thundercracker folded his arms, ‘Then why don’t we just strafe them with the Nemesis; wipe them out like the scum they are and save us the trouble.’

                ‘We cannot waste our firepower on only two Autobots.’ The warlord explained, ‘We’re low enough on Energon as is, and with our former weapons manufacturer… missing, we cannot afford to fire a single one of the Nemesis’s cannons.’

Starscream bowed, signalling Thundercracker and Skywarp to follow suit, ‘Then let me be the one to kill them Megatron; let us prove the Seeker’s…  _significance_  to you.’ He said, eyeing Soundwave smugly.

Megatron stopped and stared at the bowing Decepticon, pausing as if to reconsider his trust in Starscream’s skills before nodding. ‘Do what you want.’

He smirked, ‘Thank you Megatron, in your straightforward consent, you have just guaranteed our victory.’


	7. Confronting Rats

                Optimus made his way back into the mustard coloured cell block where Ironhide and Blackarachnia waited. While the latter looked as if she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, the former appeared ready to bawl with both of his hands wrapped around an oil stained repair ray. It was evidently functional from the look of Ironhide’s mended frame, but the amount of dripping Energon from it made Optimus cringe. Both stared at Optimus intently.

                ‘I can already tell you came out empty handed,’ Blackarachnia teased, ‘so why don’t you just shoot yourselves already? You’ve got no leverage in this battle, might as well get it over with and end the pain now, yeah?’

                ‘Shut your God-damned mouth you little-‘ Ironhide stopped himself mid-sentence, deciding that he wouldn’t let his anger overcome him at this point, not with so much on the line. He looked at Optimus, ‘Did you find anything in Sky-Line’s ship?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s basically a taxi; nothing inside but an Autopilot remote and it’s name, _the Prodigy_.’

                ‘The Prodigy? That’s pretty…’

                ‘Lame, I know…’ He reached into his belt and pulled out a brown-ish rectangular box. ‘It just takes one click and the ship flies from one place to another.’ He clicked down on a random button to accentuate his point, ‘Unfortunately I can’t imagine that pile of junk will get us anywhere but-‘

Suddenly a low rumbling shook the very asteroid either ship had been parked on, much to the Prime’s dismay. Moments after he had pressed on the remote, Sky-Line’s ship had begun it’s take off sequence, large thrusters torching the solid rock as the ship aimed for a random destination and shot itself forward. By the time Optimus had stepped outside, Sky-Line’s ship was already a tiny white speck in the distance.

                ‘Well… ship.’

He turned around to face Ironhide who responded with a blank stare. Behind him was Blackarachnia who stumbled out of the Ark laughing. Optimus hadn’t noticed it prior, but she had been walking on an ugly limp. Her entire frame already appeared severely damaged from the battle prior.

Ironhide trained his cannons on her ‘What are you-? Get back in your cell.’ He edged towards Optimus, ‘Why are we letting her stand, Prime? She killed the others; give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put her down right now.’

Optimus stared at her for a moment and reached into his belt, ‘Because she’s wrong, we  _do_ have leverage.’ He clicked a pair of stasis cuffs around the now silent Decepticon’s wrists. ‘We have a hostage.’

\-----

The three bots walked across the surface of the asteroid and as far away from the Ark as they could, each one as quiet as the next, much to the Prime’s surprise. Optimus took the lead as Ironhide dragged Blackarachnia along by a long metal wire connected to her wrists.

                ‘So.’ Optimus spoke up, hoping some last minute talk would help ease himself, ‘Ironhide, I never got to ask but-, what have  _you_ been doing these past twenty years?’

Ironhide cocked his head in thought, ‘I suppose-- I suppose I’ve been doing freelance work mostly, moving from outpost to outpost, dishing out all the help I can in the war effort, trying to make ties with the old gang… so on.’

                ‘Did you meet with any of them? The old gang I mean.’

                ‘Most of what I heard is the stuff of rumours I’m afraid. I ran into Prowl, but it was hard not to run into him, Rodimus too, though he’s a little difficult to ignore when he’s pooling all the attention to himself.’

                Optimus nodded. ‘True enough.’

                ‘What about you, what have you been up to until now?’

                He sighed, ‘Living mostly.’

A thundering roar erupted from above as all three robots ducked.

                ‘Thank God.’ Blackarachnia said, lifting her head, ‘looks like we’re finally getting to the good part.’

From the sky came a trio of space crafts, each one separating and shifting into three slick and powerful looking Cybertronians. Their thrusters activated, slowing them to an easier descent before landing upon a large rock surface on the asteroid, the ground quaking beneath their weight. Optimus found no trouble in determining the identity of the Decepticon in the center. Aerospace Commander Starscream, one of the highest ranking, and outright deadliest commanders in the Decepticon armada. The fact that Megatron had entrusted him as commander of their entire aerospace fleet determined just how worthy he was of the title.

                ‘Slag, that’s Starscream… isn’t it?’ Ironhide said, leaning towards Optimus, ‘I can’t believe they sent the most powerful aerial Decepticon to annihilate us.’

                ‘You sound honoured.’ Blackarachnia said, ‘he’s still a Cybertronian, a skillful one, but he’s not Primus, no need to fawn over the thought of getting killed by him like some masochistic fan girl.’

                ‘Oh God no, I’d rather die than get killed by—’ he frowned ‘— I mean… “Fan girls?”’

Optimus scanned the open field ahead of him, ‘Ironhide, see that lump of rock to my left?’

He nodded, ‘Strategic cover?’

                ‘The minute a shot is fired, run for it, it’s our best chances of getting through this alive.’

Standing at the highest point of the rock face, Starscream was almost disappointed by the Autobots lack of aversion to their assault. Regardless, the Aerospace Commander felt a sense of pride in being the one to knock off a powerful Autobot for Megatron, any reason to show off his skills in combat was enough to please him. He waved a sleek, dismissive servo towards Skywarp and Thundercracker, ‘Move aside, I need no help in cleaning this asteroid of filth.’

The two seekers nodded and kicked off the edge of the cliff, gliding gracefully before quaking the ground from the force of their heavy bodies. They turned, and jogged to the side-lines as to make way for their commander to finish the job.

Skywarp tilted his head back and laughed, ‘That’s not what he said when it came to mopping the Nemesis’s main deck the other day.’

Thundercracker sighed, ‘My knees still hurt from having to scrub with the sponge.’

                ‘Absorbent and yellow a-~‘

                ‘Shut up.’

With Thundercracker and Skywarp out of the way and out of sight, Optimus immediately grabbed Blackarachnia from Ironhide, bringing the blade of his axe up to here throat.

 Blackarachnia rolled all four optics, ‘of course.’

                ‘Starscream!’ Optimus raised his voice and immediately regretted it, realizing this may not have been the best plan, ‘let us go peacefully and the Decepticon lives.’

Starscream considered making a speech to strike a degree of awe in the Autobots beforehand, but instead decided to finish the job without the pleasantries. He raised his upper lip and extended his arm towards them. ‘Do you really think I’m that big of an idiot?’

                ‘I figured it was worth a shot.’ Optimus said, scratching the back of his head with the axe handle.

The corner of Starscream’s mouth arched as he stretched his arm outwards, ‘Cute.’ Panel’s shifted, overlapped and rotated as his arm transformed into a multi barreled cannon equipped with six green and grey coloured missiles.

                ‘Starscream wait!’ Thundercracker called from below, a sliver of hesitance in his usually collected tone of voice, ‘Maybe we should stop and think about this for just a moment, this drone has accomplished much this past year, are we really going to just put her to waste like this?’

                ‘At least  _someone_ recognizes my usefulness around here.’ Blackarachnia moaned.

Starscream scowled down upon Thundercracker, his optics burning narrowing with distaste towards the blue Decepticon, ‘Do you… doubt me? Do you doubt my sense of judgement?’

                ‘Well… yes.’

Optics burning a bright orange, the Aerospace commander cocked his weapon, aiming it directly at Optimus. A mental command away from pulling the trigger, he hesitated. A stray thought entered his mind, the thought being Megatron. What if he were to disobey? No doubt a punishment would come soon after, and while he would never admit it to anyone, Starscream was deathly scared of his lord and master. Teeth clenched, the Seeker brought a digit to his helm.

                ‘Calling the Nemesis, this is Starscream, request permission to speak with Megatron.’

\-----

                ‘Have faith in me,’ Soundwave said, ‘It will be a completely secure process.’

The Decepticon leader rubbed his chin, ‘I see.’

Prepared to go into a deeper explanation, Soundwave perked his head, ‘Incoming call from Starscream.’

                ‘Answer him.’

Soundwave paused to listen, nodded and looked back at his leader, ‘The Autobots have the drone held hostage, Starscream is asking for permission to eliminate it in order to fulfill the mission. Your orders?’

Megatron raised a brow at the communications officer, ‘Is that all? Tell him to open fire, it’s just a drone, we can always salvage another from the wreckage.’ Megatron sighed, ‘One must sacrifice in order to fuel what’s needed for the greatest good after all.’

                ‘Eloquently put my lord.’ Soundwave nodded, and reconnected with Starscream, ‘Megatron has given the word, kill them all.’

\----

Starscream grinned. ‘As you wish.’

Blackarachnia’s disposition evaporated in an instant, her grin dissipating and her posture slouching into a state of disbelief, ‘Hold on… Starscream what are you-?!‘

                ‘Scatter!’ Optimus yelped as he and Blackarachnia dove to their right. Missiles whizzed by as clusters of rock and debris burst from underneath them. Small brittles of asteroid ricocheted off of Ironhide’s helm leaving nothing more than a hollow den as the black Autobot somersaulted behind cover and ducking his head. Realizing he was the only one taking cover, Ironhide scanned the area of broken ground to find Optimus still standing within the open, Blackarachnia crouching next to him.

The Decepticon slammed her fist against the ground, ‘Starscream you idiot! You almost hit me!’

                ‘Prime!’ Ironhide called out, spreading his arms out in disbelief ‘the cover strategy, what the hell happened to the cover strategy?’

                ‘Yeah, yes I hear you, I forgot which way the rock was, just stay there!’

                ‘Megatron has deemed you redundant.’ Starscream mocked from his perch, ‘therefore, technically, I don’t have any real reason  _not_ to kill you. Laters!’

Blackarachnia propped herself up, realizing only now that her stasis cuffs had been unlocked by the force of the explosion. ‘Damn it, damn you Starscream! Do you even know who the hell I am? I swear by the end of the day I’m going to tear a hole in your-‘

                ‘You will do no such thing.’ Starscream retorted, ‘You are an ungrateful and revolting beast, there are a hundred Decepticons under my command that wouldn’t be happier to die by my hand.’ He brought the palm of his hand to his chest, ‘For I am Starscream, the leader of the future, the bringer of light and unity that will end the anarchy of our race!’

Blackarachnia lowered her head, ‘I can’t believe-- Megatron he’d—I can’t believe he would-‘

Optimus Prime stepped forward brandishing his index finger towards him, ‘you’re insane Starscream, you already know you’ve lost so just leave us be or surrender peacefully.’

                ‘Starscream never surrenders’ he boasted, ‘I am far superior to that!’

                ‘You will never be superior Starscream… not to the power of justice!’

                ‘Justice is a concept that I transcend; I  _define_ what true justice is!’

The two voices taunted back and forth for as long as it took for Ironhide to feel like vomiting.

                ‘Why do commanders always have to act so stereotypically heroic, uptight and pompous…?’

                ‘I know the feeling,’ Thundercracker said, ‘makes me want to vomit.’

                ‘I hear ya man.’

Deadpanned, Ironhide turned around to find Thundercracker sitting on a large boulder behind him; the seeker blinked and stood up, ‘Oh, I’m sorry I’ll just-’ He pointed to the left, staring at Ironhide, ‘-yeah…’ Transforming, Thundercracker jetted off to a farther part of the asteroid, determined to stay on Starscream’s good side.

                ‘I’ve got a delivery for you Starscream!’ Optimus said, ‘and the return address is justice!’

                ‘And  _I_ have a delivery for  _you_  Autobot!’ Starscream stopped, realizing that he hadn’t initially thought of a good comeback before speaking, Starscream simply raised his cannon and fired another cluster of missiles at Optimus.

Dodging in time, Optimus somersaulted past the missile fire and next to Ironhide as clouds of debris kicked up from below, ‘See? I remembered which way to dodge this time, not so bad right?’

From his perch, Starscream folded his weapon away, replacing it with a smaller but sleeker looking gatling-gun shaped weapon: the null-ray, ‘Come out Autobots!’ he fired a rapid fired dose of laser fire at the ground in front of them, unsure of where they had hidden from the clouds of space-dust blocking his vision. ‘It is so sweet to see you scurry around in fear like the dirty rats you are.’ He fired again.

               

                ‘He just called us rats.’ Optimus said, ‘who  _does_ that?’

                ‘Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt.’ Blackarachnia said

                ‘Kind of…’

Ironhide snorted, ‘Oh man up, Prime.’

Optimus waved a dismissive hand, 'I'm kidding.'

                ‘You’re a Prime aren’t you?’ Blackarachnia spouted, ‘you command dozens of bots at a time; surely you have  _some_ plan.’

                ‘I actually-‘

                ‘You what?’

Optimus shut his optics, ‘I actually never properly led in my life, my first and last big job I let my Second in command do all the work, and with them gone I’ve got little idea on how to deal with something like this.’

Blackarachnia sighed, ‘We’re dead.’

                ‘Who’s this  _we?’_ Ironhide said bitterly.

                ‘Plebeians, worms, proles, how does it feel to be cowardly scum…?’

                ‘Now he’s  _really_  dishing out the insults.’ Optimus said.

                ‘That’s it.’ Ironhide perked his head above the boulder and shouted at the Seeker ‘At least I don’t have chicken legs!’

Optimus face-palmed, ‘idiot.’

The colour in Starscream’s face drained away, ‘… what did you just say?’

Ironhide blinked. ‘That your. Legs are. Chicken-y…’

Starscream stared.

                ‘YOU’RE DEEEEAAAAAAD!’

Leaping into the air, Starscream shifted and transformed into his sleek red, white and black jet mode, powered by a pair of large thruster on the rear that were set ablaze with powerful neon light.

                ‘Oh scrap.’ Optimus cursed as he shook Ironhide by the shoulders, ‘move… MOVE!’

Starscream shot forward, a plethora of weaponry unfolded and powered up from his underside as he circled the area with intense speed, catching sight of the driving Optimus and Ironhide. Starscream didn’t hold back, with Blackarachnia out of sight he barrel rolled and targeted the two Autobots, unleashing a barrage of missile and laser fire that tore apart chunks of the massive asteroid beneath them.


	8. Purple Sprayed

                Kicking the ground, Optimus somersaulted forward and transformed. Activating his rear thruster and boosting forward along the bumpy terrain. Ironhide rolled not far behind, his cannon’s firing aimlessly towards the sky. Rock exploded around them as both Autobots swerved, Starscream on the other hand reloaded his supplies, and circled around for another strafe-run. ‘IT’S A COMMON BIRTH DEFECT!’ the Decepticon screamed.

                ‘We need to act fast!’ Optimus said, tires spinning ‘and we can’t drive forever, on my mark, Transform and return fire.’

                ‘And you?’

                ‘I’ll think of something.’

Optimus buckled to the side, hitting his brakes as Starscream unloaded another barrage, ‘Now!’

Both robots transformed and held their ground, only to their surprise, not to find Starscream circling them in the sky like a bird of prey, but to find him jetting, nose-first towards them like a maniac.

                ‘Incoming!’

The Aerospace Commander transformed, planting his legs on the ground and tearing it apart as he shredded to a halt.  Landing directly in front of Optimus, Starscream swung a large servo and grabbed him by the throat, clenching down as he lifted the struggling robot above his head.

                ‘Autobot, when will you ever learn your place?’ He grinned, ‘well, now that I think about it, that isn’t the most difficult of questions to answer. Seeing as I’m about to kill you, I’d say- !’

                ‘Never!’

Ironhide fired a cannon blast into Starscream’s back, causing him to drop Optimus and fire a round of machine gun fire at the bulky bot. Ironhide somersaulted to the side, taking cover and firing rounds back at Starscream who dodged them accordingly.

                ‘I nearly forgot there were two of you, you all seem to look ali –AGH!’

                The Seeker looked down to find an orange Energon Axe sticking out of his side, pink and black substance leaked from the gash as metal peeled itself back, shying away from the weapon’s orange glow. Optimus pulled it out and prepared another strike only for Starscream to explode into a wild transformation back into his jet mode, panels sprang outward smacking Optimus in the chest as the newly formed air vehicle roared, jetting back into the sky where it circled them once again.

Ironhide doubled back, firing a round into the sky before hiding under cover once again. ‘It’s no use, we can’t hit him while he’s in the air; he’s too fast!’

                ‘In that case…’ Optimus stepped into the open, swinging his axe back and forth, ‘…let’s give him what he wants.’ Starscream barrelled backwards, transforming in the air this time, descending down upon the two Autobots, and landing on top of Ironhide.

                ‘There is no hiding from me!’ Starscream announced, preparing his null ray. Before he could react, Optimus leapt at him, swinging his axe wildly at the Decepticon. Starscream leapt off of Ironhide to dodge and knocked Optimus’s hand away, preparing a karate-chop of sorts only to find himself grappling with Optimus. His Axe drawing closer to his face.

                ‘I may not have received the highest scores in the academy…’ Optimus put pressure on his axe hand as Starscream held on to its handle, his other locked with Prime’s servo in a violent struggle. Starscream could feel the blue and red Autobot gaining the upper hand, slowly over-powering the aerospace commander with a tremendous amount of strength. Starscream was baffled. Optimus grinned underneath his faceplate. ‘…but I’m still an academy bot nonetheless.’ Spinning around, Prime delivered a roundhouse kick to Starscream’s crotch, sending him jutting backwards as speck of oil sprayed from his mouth. From cover, Ironhide fired a condensed shot from either cannon at Starscream creating a plethora of indents, warps and burn markings in the Decepticon’s upper torso and right shoulder.

Starscream let out a violent scream, firing his null rays wildly and taking to the skies once again.

\-----

Megatron’s optics narrowed as he observed the fight from the safety of the Nemesis, parked neatly and nearly a solar system away from the action.

                ‘Lord Megatron,’ Soundwave spoke, ‘might I ask whether you are feeling well or-‘

He made a dismissive gesture, ‘I  _feel_ well, Soundwave, but I am afraid I’m growing somewhat… bored by this debacle.’

                ‘Will you be assisting Starscream?’

                ‘No. I allowed Starscream to partake in this fight for a reason, and that reason is that this is vital for his development into what I intend him to become, but, if he is to fail...’ he stared at his left servo.

Soundwave nodded, ‘Shall I prepare your fusion cannon, your swords perhaps?’

                ‘Again… no, Starscream’s wasting enough ammunition as is, and besides, it will be no trouble for me to deal with this in a more…’ his servo clenched into a fist, ‘…eco-friendly manner. ‘

\-----

Dodging another missile, Optimus managed to grasp the situation in a more logical manner, one that took him a moment to properly believe. ‘I’ve got it!’ he snapped his fingers, whirling his head in Ironhide’s direction, ‘Ironhide, I think I’ve figured this guy out!’

Ironhide snorted, firing a weak bolt from his cannons at the soaring Seeker, ‘Do I even want to know what that means?’

                ‘It means there’s a pattern, you see, this guy, Starscream, I know his secret. He’s actually a huge idiot, a  _massive_  idiot!

Ironhide didn’t seem impressed, ‘Right, I can understand that much… but what does that have to do with, um, anything?’

Optimus Prime tapped at his helm, ‘Starscream loves to kill, or more specifically to assert his dominance, it’s obvious by the way he’s been taunting and attacking us. But it’s not just dominance he wants, he wants to kill us but he wants to look  _good_ while doing it. He could be flying around and shooting at us all day until we run out of strength, but where’s the fun in that?’

                ‘… That sounded downright disturbing… coming from you.’

                ‘Point is, any second now he’s going to try coming down to our level again, and on our level, well, that’s where we have the advantage.’

Losing track of the Seeker, Ironhide found himself struggling to believe it, ‘I’m not so sure, I mean, he doesn’t exactly seem sane but we’ve managed to force his retreat twice already, I just don’t know if he’s going to fall for-‘

Out of nowhere, Starscream crashed down before them, his slick grin creasing the edges of his faceplate and his digits waggling as If he were surveying his meal.

                ‘Huh.’ Ironhide nodded to Optimus and opened fire, only for Starscream to sidestep out of the blast and thrust his dominant arm forward, delivery a hefty punch to Ironhide’s torso and sending him hurdling backwards. Starscream flexed his arm, morphing it from his standard mode into a large, circular, razor covered buzz-saw. Advancing as Ironhide attempted to lift himself up and out of the rubble.

                ‘It appears that your friend has abandoned you, pity, friends are never a good thing to keep, they have a tendency to betray you when you least expect it.’ His buzz saw whirred eerily, ‘at least he will be spared the sight of your innards flying out of your chest, and I know how snippy you Autobots get about violence. Now then… where  _is_ that friend of yours?’

Driving at him from behind in vehicle mode, Optimus transformed and leaped on Starscream’s back.

                ‘Here I am!’

While the Seeker was only about half a head taller than Optimus, grappling him was far from easy. Starscream squirmed and swung his spinning saw- blade out in front of him. ‘Urgh… get off me you filthy, filthy thing!’

                ‘The only thing filthy Starscream…’ Optimus swung his axe into the Seeker’s back, cutting between his wing and his spine. ‘Is your face!’

Starscream screeched, his thrusters activating and deactivating at random intervals as he struggled. Ironhide blew on his overheated cannons from behind cover, ‘Good one!’ he called out.

Starscream tried to shake off the Autobot, but came up with a better plan, ‘Might I ask, have you ever wanted to fly?’

Optimus frowned as he readied another strike, ‘Might I what--?’ but it was too late, Starscream had already transformed, with Optimus still attached. Thrusting upwards, Optimus found himself holding on to Starscream’s rear wings for dear life as he and the Decepticon sped through the dizzying asteroid field. Starscream lurched to the left as a means to get Optimus’s grip to give in. The only thing that seemed close to giving in however, was Optimus’s fuel-pump.

                ‘How does it feel? I hear you Autobots have very few fliers; it mustn’t be often you experience such. I almost feel sorry for you.’

Optimus groaned, ‘Shut up! You won’t stop talking and I hate you.’

                ‘Oh believe me, the only reason I am talking to you at all right now is because I  _know_ you hate it. Now then… what trick should I do next in order to get you off of me…?’

                Optimus took a risk and raised his axe, ‘Do a barrel roll!’ he yelled, slamming it down against the previously formed wound on his wing, Optimus had managed to cut at least half of the Seeker’s right wing off completely. Screeching, Starscream buckled backwards, crashing into the previous asteroid, but not before being used as a launch pad for Optimus to direct his descent towards the hunk of rock below him. And by that, he crashed directly into Ironhide.

Rolling backwards, the black and red Autobot massaged his back, shoving the heftier Prime off of him. ‘Ugh, I beg your pardon Prime…’

Optimus raised a servo as he lifted himself to his feet; ‘Sorry…’ he turned to face the wide crater, formed by Starscream.

                ‘You think he’s dead?’ Ironhide asked.

As if on cue, Starscream rose from the smoke and rubble, with one wing broken and the other bent, his only source of flight were the pair of thrusters on his back. He snarled, ‘I’m going to  _kill_  you!’

Starscream lurched forward, transforming into a wingless jet and boosting forward, only to crash headfirst back into the rock. ‘My wings!’ Starscream clumsily transformed back into robot mode, fisting the ground as he did. ‘My lustrous wings…How- how DARE you, you maggots!’

Ironhide placed a hand on his hip as he surveyed the smouldered seeker, ‘Well, that’s quite an insult you don’t hear every day, you know you _could_ just call us assholes and be done with it.’

Starscream stood up, ‘Look, I am not sure what else to say to you but if you are as eager to get this as over and done with as I am then…’ he spread his arms to either side of him beckoning them forth, ‘COME ON!

Transforming, Optimus sped forward as Ironhide provided cover fire, in response; Starscream morphed his arm into his missile launcher and opened fire, forcing Prime to swerve. His thrusters ablaze, Optimus drove forward, ramming himself into Starscream’s mid-section and sending him hurdling further backwards. Starscream elbowed Optimus’s hood only for him to transform and clutch either one of Starscream’s wrists pushing him back, roaring as he did so. At once, Optimus pulled backwards, twisting and tearing Starscream’s rocket arm out from its socket. While the Seeker was stunned, Optimus spawned his axe once again, chopping at Starscream’s wrist and disabling him indefinitely. 

The Seeker fell backwards, cowering away on his hands on knees, ‘Please! We can- we can strike a deal yeah? I’m absolutely powerless here, no guns, no flight, I couldn’t lay a scratch on you if I wanted, I couldn’t lay a scratch on you if _you_ wanted! So if you would be so kind could you give me a hand or-or spare my life at the very least? That would be- that would be just awesome.’

Optimus turned to Ironhide who firmly shook his head. Uncomfortably but without a hint of naivety, Optimus motioned Ironhide to do whatever he wanted, whatever  _that_  might have been. Charging his cannons, Ironhide approached the seeker heartily but with a noticeably smaller amount of charisma as he had during the battle.

                ‘Please…’ Starscream outstretched his wounded servo, ‘You can’t actually- you can’t actually be this…’

His optics narrowed and his momentarily aghast expression morphed into a widened grin, ‘…stupid.’

Jumping to his feet, the thrusters on Starscream’s back flipped up and aimed forward, rotating inwards on themselves.

Optimus leaped forward, ‘IRONHIDE!’

Two bright beams of neon blue light fired from Starscream’s shoulders creating a widened hole in Ironhide’s torso and another in his shoulder. Electricity surging in either of his wounds, Ironhide staggered back, grabbing at dead air as his optics widened. As if the optical light had been leaking from his retinal, the large, black Autobot fell on his back, his optics a gunmetal grey.

Starscream smirked as his shoulder cannons smoked, ‘Did you really think I was actually that pathetic? That I would ever bow to an Autobot before dying? And you called _me_ an idiot.’

Optimus dashed forward, brandishing his axe, ‘DAMN YOU!’

The Air Commander casually picked up his discarded Null Ray, but instead of using it traditionally, he held it as a club, picking the correct moment and swinging it, crashing into Optimus Prime’s faceplate. Optimus’s head cracked backwards as chunks of metal from his faceplate came dashing off, replacing the broken area with warps and fractures that morphed the facial skeleton underneath. Optimus was sent a good thirty feet backwards, landing hard on the ground and filled to the brim with excruciating pain.

                ‘Is this disappointment I feel?’ Starscream’s chest-plate separated and opened up, revealing a cluster of heat-seeking missiles. Opening fire, thirty bright purple lights escaped his torso, soaring upwards before crashing back down at Prime’s feet. ‘Or pity…’ The missiles exploded into multiple purple fireballs and throwing the red Autobot backwards, the back of his head hitting a rock face and forcibly snapping his head back in place. Broken, Optimus rose to his feet.

                ‘You’re a hard one.’ Starscream admitted as he reactivated his saw-blade, ‘But regardless I will condemn you for proving to be a tougher customer than you let on. Unfortunately, this is also why I’m going to savor your death just a little longer.’

Optimus huffed, clenching his fists and wiping some spilled Energon from his faceplate, ‘Bring it!’

Starscream raised the buzz-saw, completely prepared and willing to finish it. He hesitated. He never hesitated. What he could have sworn was a trick of the light, on further inspection revealed itself to be much more. Among the broken pieces of his faceplate were splotches of bright purple Energon. But Starscream knew what spilled blood looked like, he probably knew it better than most other Decepticons, but this… among the purple liquid in the fracture of Optimus’s faceplate, was a shade of purple different from the rest. ‘But that…’ Starscream pointed a digit towards Prime’s face, ‘why do you have a-‘

Before he could finish, a pair of long, sharp, spear-like tendrils tore through Starscream’s back and out his chest. Starscream tried to gasp, but even that was difficult to manage. From either tendril came a burst of electricity that surged through him, causing him to cough up black and green fluids. With all feeling in his body gone, Starscream staggered, and collapsed.

Behind him, Blackarachnia transformed, it looked painful and jarring. It appeared especially so from the addition of the mass-displacement, but she had still managed to convert back into her humanoid form, panting.

                ‘Oh Primus… of God that was a bad idea, that was a  _very_  bad idea… way too much energy… serves him right though.’ She spat at Starscream’s unconscious body and turned to Optimus who appeared to have been gluing his faceplate back together with his own leaked Energon.

                ‘I don’t suppose you’re up for a fight are you?’ Blackarachnia panted, her legs trembling, ‘Because I’m not.’

Optimus had been jumping in place as a means to regain the feeling in his legs, ‘I don’t know… I managed to dislocate and re-locate every visceral muscle in my system so as much as I may regret saying this,’ he readied his fists, ‘I could very well go a few more rounds.’

                Blackarachnia sighed, ‘Well… I’d run away but transforming takes a lot out of my system and I- I’m a little….’ She collapsed, falling face first into the ground.

Optimus shrugged, ‘Thanks anyway…’ He turned his attention to Ironhide’s body, ‘Ironhide…’

Before he could think anything of it, a hint of movement caught him off guard. Starscream was moving.

The Aerial Commander pushed against the ground, his head hung-low, ‘…Thunnnercrackurgh!’ he screeched, his voice slurred and raspy ‘Sgguywarrrp!’

On cue, both seekers appeared in a burst of purple light, transforming and landing agilely adjacent to Starscream.

                ‘He’s on his own now!’ Starscream said, ‘terminate him and get it done with.’

It was Thundercracker who made the first move, his arm morphing into a large bladed weapon as he lunged at Prime’s throat. He was smaller than Starscream, but about the same height if not inches shorter than Optimus. ‘Like we’ll even get the credit for it.’ He moaned.

Skywarp activated his chain gun from behind, ‘’Least we get to have some fun.’

Thundercracker slammed the broad side of his blade into Prime’s neck, pushing him back towards the rock-face by his throat.

Before Thundercracker could get a response, a loud gunshot sounded behind him. It came from Ironhide. He was sitting up with his cannon pointed forward, a stream of smoke trailing from the barrel. He traced the direction in which the shot fired to see Skywarp, his face ripped off from his skull, and a flaming hole where the top of his head should have been. Thundercracker screamed out, dropping his sword and rushing to catch his fellow seeker.

‘Nooo!’ kneeling as he caught him, Thundercracker shook his body receiving the faintest of responses in Skywarp’s servos. ‘He’s… his spark is intact, and I think his brain module is as well he- but he won’t last long!’

He lifted Skywarp, half carrying, half dragging him away from the scene.

                ‘Where do you think you’re going?!’ Starscream snapped.

                ‘Back to the Nemesis, Skywarp isn’t going to last much longer unless I get him some medical attention stat.’

Starscream’s voice rose to a higher pitch, ‘Who cares! Kill them now while they stand!’

Thundercracker snorted, pulling Skywarp past another rock-face, ‘ _I_  care.’

With the Seekers gone and Starscream silent, it was Blackarachnia’s hint to move. She lifted herself to her feet, only to fall back onto one knee. Optimus was checking on Ironhide.

                ‘Could you quit dying for one second?’

Ironhide shrugged, kneeling and panting heavily, ‘Eh, if I don’t do what has to be done then no one will.’ He turned his attention to Blackarachnia who was almost, if not just as out of shape as he was, ‘So, what do we do about her?’

                ‘Whatever you want,’ the spider said, ‘in case you hadn’t already noticed, I’ve pretty much sealed my fate when I attacked Starscream here. There’s basically no chance I’ll ever be let back in with the Decepticons with my head still attached.’

Ironhide tried to move but was overwhelmed by the pain, ‘I say we kill her now, don’t let her kill again. Kill  _and_ be killed.’

Optimus hesitated, ‘No, not now, I don’t-- I’ll decide what to do with her, just-‘

He was interrupted by a roar, emanating from Starscream, ‘It hurts….’ The Seeker crawled forward with his thin bony limbs, ‘It hurts so- so much pain…’ he raised his cracked head, his teeth grinding together as his optics widened further. ‘This can’t happen… it can’t! This can’t be- how can this- how can this happen?!’ He looked Optimus directly in the optic, reaching what’s left of his arm forward, ‘I can never be defeated by pathetic wretches like you!’ His optics darted to Blackarachnia, ‘and you- you pathetic lab experiment…’ His expression changed from a look of pure anger to what looked like fear and exasperation, ‘don’t you- don’t look at me! How  _dare_ you look at me, don’t look down at me!’ He raised his upper body only for it to tear from his lower half, ‘DON’T LOOK DOWN ON ME YOU  _WOOOORMMMSSS!’_

Ironhide swung a mighty fist into Starscream’s skull, smashing it into the asteroid and forcing him into stasis lock, silencing the Seeker. He turned to Optimus and shrugged. ‘Cannons overheated, had to improvise.’

Optimus nodded, ‘Works for me… now go.’

                ‘What?’

                ‘Head to the Ark, take Blackarachnia with you and activate the Ark’s cloaking shield, the Decepticons shouldn’t be able to find you there.’

                ‘What?’ Ironhide repeated, his tone growing harsh.

                ‘Get some medical attention.’ Optimus advised, motioning to his shaking legs, ‘you can barely stand on your own, use each other as supports if you want to make it back without passing out again.’

                ‘Support-?’ Ironhide realized, turning to Blackarachnia, her legs also only barely keeping her upright, ‘Optimus, you don’t honestly expect me to let this murderer _live_ do you?’

He shook his head, ‘I don’t, what I want you to do is take her back to the Ark and bound her with as many stasis cuffs as you need.’

Blackarachnia waved a disinterested servo, ‘No really, if you’re going to kill me you might as well do it now, It’s not like I can fight or anything… not like I have much a reason to anyway. I’m ready to die if that’s what you want.’

Ironhide jabbed a finger at Optimus, ‘What’s the difference? We already know we aren’t going to let her live so pick up Starscream’s gun and-‘

Optimus drew his axe, ‘That is a direct order Ironhide, use her as a support to walk, put her in the cell, and wait for me. I will decide what we do with her later.’

Ironhide clenched his fists, his optics narrowing, ‘Yes sir…’

                ‘Before we go…’ Blackarachnia pointed towards the ground where Starscream once lay, all that was left was the small crater shaped like that of the Seeker’s body outline, Starscream himself was missing, gone.

                ‘How the hell did he sneak off so quietly?’ Ironhide wondered.

                ‘Never mind that,’ Optimus said, jabbing his index finger in the direction of the Ark, ‘go, activate the cloaking device, and stay there. Do what you want, if you kill her; fine, just know if you do I won’t let you on my ship ever again.’ He stopped, realizing how harsh he sounded, ‘I’ll… finish things up here.’

Ironhide shut his optics, placing an arm around Blackarachnia who mirrored him just as coldly.

                ‘I’ll see you around I guess…’ Ironhide muttered, rushing Blackarachnia along beside him.

Optimus watched them limp their way over the large bumps and craters in the asteroid, into the direction of the Ark. As the yellow tint of yellow in the distance disappeared, camouflaging itself along with the landscape, he knew they would be safe. Sighing, Optimus activated the Ark’s automatic locks via his wrist compartment. ‘That’ll keep him at bay.’ He turned the other way, moving over to Starscream’s discarded Null ray before lifting the hefty laser-gun and fingering the trigger. A feeling of disdain overcame him upon wielding an enemy’s weapon, he didn’t know what it was, it just didn’t feel… right.

A silver and red robot, at least a head or two taller than Optimus appeared in the corner his optic, ‘So…’ Megatron spoke, ‘What have I missed?’

 


	9. History

                It was over 4,000 years ago when the Decepticon regime had come to power. Well, 4,000  _at least,_  4,000,000 at the most, or so the war archivist _Rewind_ says, the war was one of those events that some bots had trouble accepting didn’t always exist and so the length of time it had gone on for became muddled over time. Even the pre-war veterans like Kup and Landmine found it difficult to remember peace when the society they lived in was still recovering from a previous war not too long beforehand, it was during the end of the Age of Dreadlock: named after the genocidal despot that led the Destron's towards the conquer of Cybertron. Funny how that turned out. Dreadlock was ruthless, Dreadlock was charismatic, powerful one of the most dictating dictators that ever dictated and also happened to be a robot. But Zeta Prime was… more so. After conspiring with House Ambus, Prime set a trap that… well, I suppose how it happened is not important, what is important is that Dreadlock's army, AKA  _half of Cybertron's fragging population,_ was put on trial (what a joke that was) and had been publicly executed as a means to make an example. Can you imagine it? Every one of those petty soldiers, hanged, stabbed, torched, and shot… except for Dreadlock. What happened to him is another story entirely, but we're not talking about him, not yet. We're talking about what came afterwards. See, Dreadlock wasn't your ordinary villain, even after what happened to him, he didn't just poof into thin air like you'd expect most villains to, no, Dreadlock was a disease, one that stayed and lingered throughout the supposed Golden Age. Amongst the chaotic aftermath of Dreadlock's war, of the growing number of institutes that promoted the alteration of one's mind, of the Senate's lapdogs that hunted down and made people "disappear" for them, of the conveniently discovered page in the Covenant that described those born with the Magnus principle were direct descendants of Primus (coincidentally, house Ambus turned out to have the highest rate of Magni born… appropriate that a Magnus was given rank over a Prime given their large role in stopping Dreadlock and supposed non-existent expectation of anything in return.) and the extreme functionalists who felt "every shape served a purpose", there was a single soul.

A labourer, an intellectual, and a poet from Tarn. They say Dreadlock inspired Megatron, that the Decepticons were an  _extension_ of the Destrons. It wouldn't be difficult to assume that a good number of the earliest Decepticons were just that given Megatron's appeals to the few surviving supporters. But Megatron was different. His words may have spawned the ideas of equality on Cybertron, but he wasn't even in charge until much later when he found out that Decepticon Leader Clench wasn't quite as good at staying alive as he thought he was. There were few that had any qualms with Megatron's leadership. Most had seen him as the rightful leader and founder anyhow. Most. For the past 4,000 years, Megatron had turned to war, killing Zeta Prime and Delta Magnus (Ultra Magnus is next on the list), creating monsters like Sixshot, Starscream and Tarn, (regrettably) destroying Cybertron after forcing his head scientist Shockwave to create the now dismantled Fulcrum Bomb, and --of course-- conquering planet by planet and dominating the galaxy in order make up for the one he lost. But like all great things… some lose interest, and some disappear completely. Megatron on the other hand, hadn't, he may have lost much of his army as they left to pursue their own ideals for the Decepticons, but Megatron was different. He knew what pace to take, and if it meant eliminating the toughest Autobots one by one, then he would pursue it. Utilizing the dead/missing Shockwave's experimental tech, Megatron had planned to lure out the most competent of the Primes, the first to actually call for his attention however, this  _Optimus_ Prime happened to be one of the more shocking revelations for him this day.

Optimus didn't say a word. Faced with the Decepticon leader, he swiftly turned around to confirm that it was only the two of them, and lifted his axe.

In response, Megatron lifted his finger, bringing it up to his chin, 'So you're the one who defeated Starscream?'

Optimus didn't move, a bead of oil dripping down his helm as he glared at the Decepticon leader, he was sure answering him would be a bad idea, but he couldn't help but say his name. 'Megatron…'

                'And you can speak too it seems.' Megatron continued massaging his chin as he circled the Prime, his optics glazing over him as if he were making some detailed examination of his target, 'you also appear to recognize my name, but before we get to that, might I ask how you managed to kill Starscream?'

                'We didn't kill him.' Optimus spluttered, his hand still gripping the handle of his axe. ' _I_ didn't kill him, I just- I used his vanity to my advantage and taunted him into taking to the ground, I got the upper hand and damaged his wings before knocking him out. He sort of just… disappeared after that.'

Megatron's lips pursed as he nodded, 'Yes, Starscream does happen to have a tendency to run away when things don’t go in his favor, cowardice at its finest… I'll have to teach him a lesson against that later tonight.'

Optimus felt a chill of unrest over the prospect, as if Starscream suddenly wasn't as bad as he initially thought.

                'Now hold on,' Megatron wondered, 'you recognized me…'

                'Everyone recognizes you' Optimus blurted out, 'you are the most notorious Cybertronian who ever lived,  _of course_  I'm going to recognize you!'

Megatron waved his hand side-to-side in denial, 'No… that's not it. The way you saw me, it was as if you had known me from somewhere at a personal level.' He leaned forward, his face metres away from Prime's. 'You appear older than they usually are, but… no, you're still not nearly as old as I am, you wouldn't be pre-war. Curious, did we happen to have met previously?'

Optimus felt tempted to swing his axe right then and there, but to miss out on the chance to explain his grievances to the one who caused them would have been his biggest regret. 'Yes.' He said finally. 'I don't suppose you remember do you?'

                'I remember everything.' Megatron said.

                'You didn't remember me.' Optimus's optics shifted, 'I was in charge of a squadron once. "Team Prime" we were called. We were in charge of looking after a certain planet, you know, to fight against your infiltration protocols.' He waited for a response, a dismissive motion or a scoff of evil, but to his surprise, Megatron remained perplexed, listening with a child-like fascination as Optimus continued, 'But… you see, I was never meant to be a leader, that's not modesty speaking, that's the truth. I was born a Prime, I don't expect you to know this, but Magnus's apparently have a direct lineage to Primus while the Primes, we have direct lineage to the thirteen original Transformers. Since I was war-born, many including myself that had been discovered that year were forced to drop our original plans and careers and were put into the military. I was given the highest training, but since I spent my whole life prior training to be a doctor, the polar opposite of a war leader, I came out to be the worst of our best. And you can see just how that turned out after the surge hit.

Megatron nodded, 'Ah yes, the surge, my third largest regret.'

                The surge was, for lack of a better term, the driving force that turned the organics against the Cybertronians long ago. At first they were mildly unamused by the Decepticons infiltrating their worlds, causing the typical mischief and propaganda that made their societies crumble inside out. But at the time, that's all it was, words and lies. As the knowledge of the Transformers grew, as they stopped becoming "robots in disguise", Megatron decided to be more realistic. A massive assault on every outpost, every spy and sneak in his army, every bounty hunter and information broker he could find did their jobs and assassinated their Autobot commanders, spilling the beans on as much information they possibly could before disappearing once again. It stunned the Autobots to say the least. Enough so that it gave the Decepticons the chance to pull the trigger, with the outposts crippled, the surge began. Decepticons from all over attacked the organic colonies, burning several worlds and expanding their territory. The Autobots fought back of course, and while both sides lost many, there was triumph. With most of their leaders gone and many stranded and without ways of reconnecting with the orbital hub, there was solace in the fact that they could be their own people. Just as the predicted "Chaos Theory" foretold, Decepticons and Autobots alike left their leaders to fight the enemy in their own way, thus the guilds were formed, the Galactic Council issued its death orders, and the war reached the chaotic state it was today.

                'I had commanded Starscream and Soundwave to distract Autobot Command away from the carnage.' Megatron recalled, 'as for the rest of us, we started on the smaller colonies first, Earth was the one I personally conquered myself, due to its location in the center of the galactic trade-routes, we would use it to spread infiltration troops and conquer the connecting planets-- ah!' Megatron jabbed a finger towards Optimus, his crimson optics widening, 'don't tell me you were on Earth at the time as well!' he raised his head away from Optimus, 'just what was your role?'

Optimus hesitated, refusing to make proper eye contact, 'I was in charge of it, I am a Prime.'

Suddenly, Megatron grabbed either side of Optimus's head, pulling it closer to his own amazed expression. 'What?! You commanded the Earth unit! Yes, I see now, you were there! You were the one whose failure began the Surge!' Optimus pried at Megatron's massive servos, prompting him to let go. Then, for the first time, Megatron chuckled, 'Hah! What a small universe this is, who'd of thought we'd meet again here and now!' He laughed again, patting Optimus playfully on the head.

Optimus's anger intensified, but as much as he was ready to tear at Megatron's throat, he felt something else, he wanted to call it fear, but there was something more than that, it was legitimate concern over the way Megatron acted, it was… unexpected for him.

                'But wait.' Megatron's hand remained fixed on Prime's head as he lightly shook him by the shoulder with the other, 'If you're a Prime then shouldn't you be doing more important things right now? You should at the very least have a crew with you, did the drone kill them?'

                'Yes.' it was the partial truth at the very least.

                'You're lying.' Megatron said, 'Which means that you didn't have a crew to begin with, or at least not one for very long.'

He brought his servo to his chin once again, plunging himself back into thought.

                'That's not important!' Optimus finally said, stammering back, 'what's important is why you haven't killed me ye-'

                'It would be difficult to assume that you were on your own…' Megatron continued, drowning out Prime's words, 'but at the same time it would make sense that you would turn to solitary confinement as a means to reconcile for your actions.'

                'Don't ignore m-' Optimus lunged forward, the pain in his leg returning to him.

                'Ah!' Megatron knelt before him, examining the wound, 'are you injured?'

He cringed, 'Stop pretending that you care.'

Megatron reached forward, poking his finger into the hole, 'Hold on…' he tore it back out, popping the seams and pulling out a small piece of shrapnel. Suddenly, the pain was gone. 'There.'

Confused, Optimus backed away from the Decepticon leader. 'What do you want with me?'

It was Megatron's turn to look confused, 'why… I want you to rethink your loyalty to the Autobots of course.'

Optimus stayed his ground. 'Why.'

                'Is that a joke? I'm afraid Autobot humour isn't quite as prevalent as I remember. You. You were the one who managed to deactivate a drone that had had succeeded in wiping out several outposts beforehand, furthermore, --and I hate to keep bringing this up— but you had managed to defeat Starscream, my Air Commander and one of the highest ranking members in High Command. And let me tell you, I do not choose my sub commanders lightly.'

                'So you're saying that because I could outmatch Starscream-'

                'That I think you would be a worthy addition to the Decepticons, yes. Starscream is old news and old news bores me, now it's time to look to your future and that future is with me. I am not one to waste an opportunity such as yourself Prime, and I am certain that you can achieve greater things with us than with the Autobots whom you yourself despise.'

Optimus paused, not in hesitation, but in thought. He raised his axe, 'No way in hell.' Without another moment's notice, he lunged forward, swinging his axe towards Megatron, who limberly detected and dodged the orange coloured blade with an unexpected swiftness Prime could only recognize from one other source. Himself.

                'That's it.' Megatron promoted, 'keep your knees straight, your back should be arched more as well… but it's still… hm.' Avoiding the continuous assault, Megatron began to examine Optimus once again, 'I recognize this move set.' He grinned, 'It's mine.'

                'Shut up!'

                'You… who taught you how to fight?'

                'Lots of people.'

                'I know this…'

Megatron kicked the ground, his hand striking forward, dashing through Prime's jaw, and tearing his faceplate clean off. As Optimus landed on his back, Megatron dusted off his hands, gazing down upon what he had just uncovered, watching, as Optimus shamefully lifted himself to his feet.

                'The Prime rises.' Megatron remarked.

                'Shut your mouth.' Optimus raised his head, revealing the face beneath his plate so to speak. One could say there wasn't anything special about what it looked like other than what was printed uponit. Prime's face was chiseled but generally plain looking as one might expect, but printed beneath his right optic in light purple ink was a symbol. A Decepticon symbol. 'I got this a long time ago.' He explained.

                'And you still have it? I  _know_ you're not a Decepticon, I can recite the names of every Decepticon from the top of my head, and I  _know_ you're not one of us.'

                'I was never a Decepticon.' Optimus explained, his hands trembling, 'I… learned how to fight from you, it's the only way I was able to properly graduate from the academy.' He was finished denying it, 'I was a supporter of the Decepticons way back when, back before the surge, before I even fought one of you. I watched grainy footage of every pit-match I could buy from Swindle. You say you can list all of your Decepticons? I can name all of the ones from the beginning, back when you were a gladiator. Soundwave, Ravage, Scorponok, Clench, Cy-kill… there's still gladiatorial combat today you know? You want to know how I learned to fight? I learned from you, and I practised what I learned against the modern gladiators like Grimlock and Jazz, and then… it worked, I graduated and was put in charge of a squad, until that day, I thought your cause was just, until…'

                'Until you realized how weak you really are.' Megatron finished, tilting his head to the side, 'those modern gladiatorial matches… they didn't permit death did they? Now  _that's_ what separates you and me, I see now.'

'YOU KILLED MY TEAM!' Optimus shouted, he was shaking all over, 'People I loved,  _died_ in my arms, orders I gave, led them to their deaths, because of two Cybertronians, me, and you! You think I went into solitude without a reason?! I kept myself far away from those few who survived so it wouldn't happen again, I refused to fight a broken cause  _for_  a broken cause!'

Megatron stepped forward, fist beneath his chin, 'And yet… that's not entirely true, is it? Come now, you shouldn’t deny it, if you didn't love the smell of battle then you wouldn't have succeeded the way you did.'

                'No.'

                'Yes. A pacifist would have curled into a ball and died crying, but you're better than that, you killed before haven't you? You can certainly kill again. Why else would you abandon all your weaponry, but keep your axe.'

                'It's for… exploration.'

                'I'm certain you've used it for plenty of that.'

                'Shut up!' Optimus had decided he had enough and lunged forward, 'no more talk, you are my enemy and I'm going to kill you!'

Megatron callously stepped backwards, remaining untouched, 'See? There's that rage I know, the rage of a Decepticon.'

                'Shut up!' Optimus repeated, his axe coming closer to Megatron's face than it ever had before.

                'Careful!' Megatron spouted mockingly, 'you nearly hit me that time. That was mean. If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to kill-'

A scar, running from Megatron's cheek to his chin had formed across his face, black liquid forming along the scar line as he ran his finger across it.

Optimus felt a sense of accomplishment in managing to pull off a hit on Megatron, but forever more for the look of shock it gave him. 'Yeah? How's that for you.' He swung his axe again, only this time, Megatron reacted. The Decepticon leader, grabbed his wrist before the blade could make contact. Slowly, Megatron's expression of pride and bewilderment morphed into that of how he had been depicted for centuries prior. He looked like that of a raging monster. In a single motion, Megatron used his free hand to punch a crater into Prime's chest, and his other to pull backwards, sinews and joints snapping and crackling as Optimus Prime's arm was ripped out from its socket, a long trail of soggy wires and black-crusted gears remaining where his limb once was. It was then Megatron made his promise as he sent the screaming Prime's body flying into the rock.

                'I'm going to kill you.'

 


	10. The Unbalancing Act

_Twenty Years Ago…_

                Optimus sat, his arms wrapped restlessly around his knees as the monitor’s light reflected off his silver face. His optics were widened in amazement as the figures danced across the screen. The video pictured a large silvery-blue mech wielding a large broadsword-like weapon, his fingers wrapped around its hilt as he managed a stance, aiming it beside his head. His opponent was a bulky white and blue mech holding a mace. After a moment of pause, the latter robot leapt into the air and transformed into a powerful looking truck-form. Fumes bellowing as he raced towards the silver mech, ramming him directly in the chest and pushing him back on his feet. Shrugging off the amount of force, the silver robot held his ground, his feet scraping against the rusted metal arena floor as he was pushed back by the inches. Cheers of adoration and applause came from all around them as the silver robot fought back, pressing forward and digging his large fingers into the blue robots roof.

                ‘You are good, Soundwave.’ The silver robot spoke, ‘But I’m better.’

Megatron pulled up, tossing Soundwave into the air and chucking him across the pit. The gladiator transformed and did a backwards somersault, landing firmly on his heels and maintaining his balance. Re-attaching his broad-sword, Megatron dashed forward, shattering Soundwave’s glassed chest cavity with a round-house kick before dealing a swift cut to the mid-section with his blade. Soundwave crumbled to the ground, lying broken and wounded as Megatron raised his blade above his head. ‘I hate to repeat myself.’ Megatron said, ‘but you really are good.’ He let go of the blade’s hilt, smiling.

The blade missed Soundwave’s head completely, sticking out of the ground like a comms pole. Ignoring the sounds of the murmurs and boos from the thousands of spectators around him, Megatron offered his opponent a hand, pulling the shocked gladiator to his feet.

                ‘I know you Soundwave, you are… troubled, an outlier, one with a gift, a gift that the Senate fears.’ He raised a hand, addressing the crowd around them, ‘just like how they fear us all!’

The murmurs of the masses began to fade, replaced with sounds of guilty pride, snickers and the faint cheers.

                ‘They think they can use you Soundwave, utilize your mind-reading abilities to control the populace, so that we can live on as dogs for them to whip as they please. Will you join me? Will you join show us all the flawed, tarnished sense of justice the Senate has proven to uphold? Will you prove what true justice is, what it means for us all to be equal in our parts, what it means for all to be one?’

After a moment of hesitation, Soundwave bowed his head, ‘I will.’

                ‘Then rise, and we will prove to our oppressors that we are not slaves or objects for them to use at our expense. We are people. We. Are. ALIVE!’

The crowd erupted into a flurry of cheers and applause, enough so, that Optimus nearly joined them. Of course it was the sudden appearance of Prowl that caught him off-guard.

                ‘Optimus Prime!’ Prowl stammered, swinging the door open and causing Optimus to—by instinct punch a hole into his monitor.

He spun his head towards the black and white mech, his optics convulsing in shock, ‘What?! What do you want?!’

Prowl raised his servos above his head as if his commander had trained a gun on him, ‘Sorry! Sorry, I was just… I didn’t know I was interrupting something!’

Optimus sighed, removing his fist from the monitor, peeling off the skin of his fingertips from the sharpness of the glass. ‘I’m sorry Prowl, you just –unf- caught me off guard… I was in the middle of… fighting my computer.

                ‘You were fighting your computer..?

                ‘Um… yes, but never mind that, you _know_ you don’t have to call me “Optimus Prime” all the time, just Optimus… or Prime.’

                ‘Sorry.’ Prowl repeated, ‘I just have some, er, news.’

Optimus spun around in his chair, flipping up the switch on his desk-side lamp before pressing his digits against one another anxiously. ‘Okay, is this good news or bad news?’

                ‘Well…’ Prowl tried to hold a solemn face, but lost it and cracked a smile, ‘I just got news from the Orbital Hub, Delta Magnus wants me to act as his head military strategist.’

Prime blinked, waiting for his third in command to say “just kidding” before mirroring his widened grin and leaping out of his chair, ‘Are you—do you—that’s great! Hahah!’ he wrapped his arms around Prowl, lifting him off the ground and swinging him around in circles.

                ‘Cut it out Prime!’ Prowl couldn’t stop himself from giggling like an idiot, ‘It’s not _that_ big of a deal.’

                ‘Not that big of a deal?’ he dropped Prowl on his feet. ‘My best friend is going to be a member of High Command! You expect me _not_ to be happy for you?!’

Prowl held back his laugh, trying to maintain his cooler atmosphere, ‘Okay, okay, we can celebrate later, first things first is Elita-One wants you on the bridge, something about a bug in the trade routes.’

Optimus chuckled, making a phoney salute, ‘Aye, aye sir!’

He was responded with an eye-roll ‘you’re still in charge, Prime, now, heh, you might want to hurry, she sounded urgent, until then’ he did his own version (ie the proper version) of a salute turned to the door behind him, preparing to step through.

                ‘Oh, and Prowl?’

He stopped.

                ‘Congratulations.’

He smiled.

For the very last time.

The moment the door closed, Prime leapt to the monitor, digging and twisting his arm in the mangled mess of equipment. Stopping with an “aha”, he pulled out a small disc containing the footage he had been watching prior.

                ‘That was a close one…’ he muttered to himself, ‘Prowl’s achieving his dreams huh, I wonder if the same will ever happen to me.’

He wondered if he’d ever get to meet Megatron.

\-----

_Now_

Prime’s screams raised another pitch as Megatron dug his finger into his face. Black liquid rising out of the gash as he pressed deeper.

He pulled backwards, and as swiftly as he had pulled the sliver out of his leg, Megatron had torn off the Decepticon tattoo beneath his optic, blood filling the gap as quickly as it had been formed. Optimus was on his back, Megatron’s massive frame hovering over him as he raised Prime’s severed arm above his head. Swinging the broken limb like a club, Megatron assaulted Optimus again, and again, and again. His own arm colliding with his head and sending chunks of metal and viscera splattering across the rock next to him. Neither robot could tell whether the metal was from his arm or his head, but that was of little matter as the next hit dashed Prime’s metallic teeth against the asteroid. Optimus didn’t know when Megatron had stopped using his arm as a club and started using his fists, but he could have guessed it was when his arm had disintegrated into a spindly husk from the amount of force used in it.

He could barely see a thing. He wasn’t completely blind, but for one reason or the other his vision was a complete blur. His only hint being the last image that had been imprinted in his mind. Megatron’s face, his expression. His teeth were gritted, whether he was biting down in rage or if had been grinning like a maniac, Prime couldn’t tell.

He could barely hear a thing either. No taunts, no dramatic music playing in the background. Just _BANG, BANG, BANG._ Each strike as painful as the last, and each strike just as swift. It felt almost supernatural, the time between blows was so short that Optimus could have sworn there had been more than one assailant beating him down. He tried to struggle. It didn’t work. Then, just as he was growing used to the pain, it stopped. He could see again.

Megatron was kneeling just as he was before, but instead of his maniacal expression, it was that of his previously calmer disposition. His eyes were shut and his hands were clapped together as if he were praying, he in-took a deep breath before opening his eyes once again. Grabbing him by the collar, Megatron lifted the Prime to his feet, eyeing his bruised and damaged state before snarling. ‘You told me your biggest secret, didn’t you…?’

Optimus didn’t answer.

Megatron tilted his head to the side, ‘You can keep one of mine, can’t you?’

Optimus didn’t answer.

                ‘Here’s the truth, I’m old, nearing five-thousand to be exact. When you reach my age you begin to…’ he brought his hand to his face, stroking his every crevice as if trying to relax himself into continuing, ‘… well, let’s say things happen to one’s mind over a long period of time. Now be quiet while this old man tells you a story. You see, my occupation requires a certain degree of violence to be carried out. Now, as you have just seen, I tend to… lose myself when carrying out this violence.’ He paused to shake Optimus, making sure he was still awake, ‘I don’t like that. I don’t like it when people see me as some violent monster who preys on the weak, hanging my victims and torturing souls. I _know_ I’m not like that, I _know_ that I’m a hero, I’ve liberated countless of my people and ended the dreaded Senate that denied our freedom and pre-designed our own lives based upon the forms we turned into. I am… civil, but when I can’t control myself, when I want to fight, I just…’ Megatron struggled with his words, dropping Optimus onto his knees and clenching his fists, ‘…I become that monster you want to believe I am, and you’re not wrong, I am a monster but deep inside—‘

He looked down upon his bloodied servos, and then to the coughing and spitting Optimus, ‘--deep inside I _know_ I’m still… me.’ He clapped his hands together, preparing to move on ‘so, as anyone in their right mind would do, I sought out help, at first I thought of hiring a Psychotherapist… an Autobot, Rung. But since he turned out to be a little busy assisting a Prime with his own issues, I searched for one a tad closer to home. Rossum was his name, you know, the one who theorized the Rossum’s trinity? Well, he also studied Psychoanalysis so, he looked after my brain and… and would you believe that he diagnosed me as insane?’

Optimus coughed.

                ‘Apparently my several decades of taking lives and conquering the known galaxy drove me to it. I asked him how it was possible and he told me that there were two definitions, the prominent one being a spectrum of abnormal behaviour and thought, and _I_ thought: okay, death and destruction happens when trying to win a war, my motto of “peace through tyranny” would be meaningless if that didn’t occur, I don’t gain any pleasure from killing mind you.’ He frowned, as if coming to realize something about himself, ‘I don’t feel anything actually.’ He shook his head, ‘His second definition was more of a—let’s say a joke, it read that insanity involved doing the exact same thing, over and over again, and expecting things to change. I laughed. Rossum laughed. So –bang—I shot him dead. The next day, won’t you know it, I was looking around… looking around at the war, and I was seeing everyone doing the exact same thing… over and over again… we the Decepticons would come up with a plan to end the war faster, you lot would stop it from happening and then—heh—“Decepticons, retreat!”. And I kept watching, thinking, no, this time things will change, no this this time, no-- I’m sorry.’ Megatron lifted Optimus off of the ground once more, squeezing him by the collar until the Prime was coughing and hacking once again. ‘I’m sorry, I do NOT LIKE THE WAY YOU ARE LOOKING AT ME RIGHT NOW!’

Throwing him back into the ground, the Decepticon leader pressed his heel against the small of Prime’s back, twisting it and shedding the metallic paint above his spinal strut. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll… relax. I’m in control.’

                ‘How do you do it?’ Optimus managed, his face in the dirt.

                ‘Do what?’

                ‘How do you kill without feeling anything? The people you kill have lives, friends and family. What kind of monster doesn’t feel anything from it?’ He braced to be struck, but received none. Megatron merely stared, his face blank.

                ‘When you step on an insect, do you feel anything from it? Better yet, when you swat a cyber-fly, do you think about its friends or families? That’s how I feel, That, Optimus, is an accurate summation of how I feel towards the people I kill.’

                ‘If you think you’re so above every else… then doesn’t that make you just as bad as the senate you fought…?’

Megatron grimaced, chucking the Prime into an indent in the asteroid. ‘You will never understand. We’re all equal, but some are deserving of being more equal than others, there are those who deny equality, and those who fight for it.’ He advanced, only for Optimus Prime to rotate on the ground, changing and morphing into his truck-form. His thrusters ablaze as he shot himself forward, driving as far away from Megatron as he could.

He did not know whether Megatron was following him or not, and he was not going to stop to look behind him any time soon, he merely drove. Swerving to the side, he transformed and dashed behind a large piece of rock sticking out of the ground, Megatron nowhere in sight. All he could hear was his voice as he called out angrily.

                ‘You’re going to run away?!’ his voice bellowed out. ‘You are going to disrespect me? After everything, you aren’t going to even put up a fight?’ He laughed and a chill ran down Prime’s spinal strut. He had never been this scared in his life. ‘I like that, no, I respect that, Prime, now, if I am correct…’

Prime turned around to find Megatron standing before him, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he bared his teeth. ‘Now’s the part where you scream.’

Optimus did just that and dashed away, transforming into his truck form once again and blazing across the asteroid. Just as he regained the slight glimmer of hope he had at the beginning of the fight, he was outrun by a massive, barrel-less tank that shredded the ground beneath its treads. The silver tank’s plating shifted and formed that of Megatron as he kicked off of the ground with one leg and stopped the other in front of Optimus, forcing him to either transform or crash.

Optimus took the former and transformed, sliding on his heels as he came to a stop.

                ‘Do you not understand Optimus?’ Megatron said, slamming his fist into the Prime’s face once again. ‘This entire universe is on a slant, and I am the balancing point.’ He dropped a fist once again only this time, Optimus managed to catch it with his remaining arm.

                ‘Yeah?’ Optimus pushed forward, grabbing Megatron by his wrist and tugging as hard as he could, pulling the shocked Decepticon over his shoulder and hurdling him into the ground. ‘Then I’m the one who’s going to set you askew!’

Megatron dusted off his chest and chuckled. ‘And here I thought you weren’t even going to try.’ Dragging himself back to his feet, the Decepticon leader smirked, sprinting towards the red Autobot and delivering a powerful clothes-line with an outstretched arm, crashing Optimus back to the ground. Optimus managed to escape his grip and somersaulted backwards, dodging Megatron’s grabs and granting himself the proper footing to pull off a scissor-kick, dragging the silver robot to the ground between his legs. Before he could get back up, Optimus swung his fist against Megatron’s cranium, dashing his reflective helm and forcing him to spit up some neon-green liquid as he raised his head once again only to receive another fist that knocked him back down, followed by an upper cut that lifted the Decepticon leader off the ground. Landing on his knees, Megatron managed to catch his balance and let out a blood-thirsty roar before charging Optimus once again, throwing a flurry of punches and kicks that Optimus responded with in turn. The two forces were nearly equal in strength as their strikes took off chunks of metal and wiring from their bodies. _Nearly._ With only one arm to protect himself, Optimus was body slammed by the larger Megatron, descending to the ground where the Decepticon leader pinned him, his hand wrapped around Prime’s throat.

                ‘It’s over Prime, you may not be the one for me, but if it is any consideration, I will remember you until the day I die. Now then, before I dash your skull against this asteroid, would you give me the benefit of a cliché and allow me to ask if you have any final words?’

He nodded, and with a click, a loud siren-like noise rang from the Prime.

Megatron frowned, ‘That isn’t—those aren’t words, what is…’ his optics darted to the source of the sound. He grabbed Optimus by the wrist and pried at his balled fist, forcing him to release what he was holding from his grip. It was a small brown dial, dotted with a number of buttons and readings upon it, on top of it was a single light, flashing an aqua green.

                ‘My last words.’ Optimus spoke, ‘Look up.’

Doing just that, Megatron turned to the sky to see a large, pointed object heading straight for him. It was a spaceship, a brown and aqua-green coloured ship with a shattered cockpit and a stream of flames trailing behind it. Written across its helm was the name of the ship.

_“The ship was on autopilot for crying out loud, you literally just pick a location, press a dial on the remote, and presto, that’s where it takes you. There must have been a splotch of cosmic rust on the warp engine, or a malfunction with the ship’s AI for all I know, because if you can’t already tell, this isn’t where I wanted to be.”_

_Moments after he had pressed on the remote, Sky-Line’s ship had begun it’s take off sequence, large thrusters torching the solid rock as the ship aimed for a random destination and shot itself forward. By the time Optimus had stepped outside, Sky-Line’s ship was already a tiny white speck in the distance._

                ‘The _Prodigy_ returns.’ Optimus said just before using Megatron’s moment of shock to his advantage by transforming and escape his grasp. ‘Thanks Sky-Line.’

Megatron remained kneeling, staring at the incoming ship as it headed nose-first towards him.

                ‘Heh.’

No sound travels through space, the Cybertronians communicated through a matter of inter-radio communications. Even a massive fireball engulfing a moon-sized asteroid as a result of Sky-Line’s ship diving nose-first into it couldn’t even be compared to a sigh. That isn’t to say the sight was easily ignored however  

Ironhide stopped what he was doing and gazed out through one of the Ark’s windows.

Starscream ignored the feat and continued his pathetic crawl.

Thundercracker gently leaned Skywarp against a rock and jogged towards the explosion to see what happened.

Soundwave witnessed the massive energy discharge and raised a brow beneath his mask.

And Optimus, he was sent tumbling forward, the blast forcing him back into robot mode as he landed hard against the solid ground. He was covered in aches and burns as his back was set ablaze. They dissipated soon enough, but from the pain in his body, he could have sworn he was still on fire. He rolled himself over and took in the view in front of him. A massive crater had formed into the side of asteroid, chunks of metal and equipment was perpetually falling and drifting around the crash-site, no artificially gravity for it to touch the ground. Its paint all but melted off from the shortly lived flames.

Optimus sighed, begrudgingly picking himself up and dusting off the chunks of dust and metal from his frame. He didn’t want to go near it, but he knew that the only way he’d ever get a sense of closure is if he ventured into the crater, and see whether Megatron was alive.

                ‘I’m going to regret this…’ he said, stepping down the slope and making his way into the broken area. Swallowing his remaining fear, he walked into the smoke. He was surrounded by shapes and colours of all kinds as the silence began to fade. His foot bumped against a stray object causing him to flinch. It was Starscream’s discarded Null-Ray, perfectly intact albeit marked with the few scratches and burns. He picked up the weapon once again and fingered the trigger, the only difference was the absence of disgust he had upon wielding it previously. He could hear a voice and looked up from the weapon. In the distance was Megatron, lying on his stomach, the lower half of his body crushed between a large piece of debris that had once formed the ship’s cock-pit while his upper half was mangled and broken with both wrists snapped backwards, his helmet nearly all but torn off, and his right optic dangling outside of its socket by a thin wire. He was reaching for Optimus, the fight still inside him as if he was certain he was going to win. Optimus approached him, cocking the rifle and pointing it at the Decepticon’s head.

Megatron faltered, dropping his arms and laughing to himself. ‘Here we are. You win. I lose. I don’t like you. It’s your choice Prime, are you going to kill me? End my life now and stop me from achieving peace through tyranny? Or stick to the naïve and take me prisoner, put me on trial like I have hundreds of times already, and watch as I escape to pursue my goals once again.’

                ‘Death is too good for you.’

                ‘Oh but death is all that we deserve.’ He swallowed down, looking up at the sky wearily. ‘Can you see it Optimus? Can you see the future? I can. I know you can. You and I, we’ll be together, fighting until the end of time… Locked in perpetual conflict, fighting over and over and over again. Never faltering, never fading. Lasting forever, until all are one… it doesn’t have to be that way.’

Optimus lowered Starscream’s gun only for Megatron to laugh.

                ‘Did you enjoy my old war videos… hm?’ he brought his hands to either side of his head, making a mocking gesture, ‘Did I made a warrior out of you? Come on…’ he shaped his servos like that of a pair of pistols and pointed them at Optimus, making a clacking noise with his tongue. ‘…pull the trigger.’ He suggested. When Optimus didn’t move he reached forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun with both hands and bringing it to his forehead. ‘Come on you piece of shit, PULL THE TRIGGER!

SHOOT ME!

END THIS BLOODY MISERY!’

                Optimus cried out, screaming as he pulled the trigger and unloading a round dead center into Megatron’s head. His skull convulsed and snapped backwards as chunks of exoskeleton and CPU exploded outwards. Bone and visceral matter shot out the back of his head as Optimus kept his ground. He fired again, and again, reducing Megatron’s skull to an unrecognizable stump and caving his chest in on his spark as he shot him multiple times in both the head and torso. The gun was out of ammunition when he finished, firing blanks as he held down on the trigger. Optimus took a moment to look down upon what he had done before turning away. ‘How do you like me now?’ he said to Megatron, trying to drop the Null-Ray only for it to remain in his grip.

‘I did it.’ He said aloud, a sudden skip in his step as he walked away, ‘I won.’

He began to notice how much longer it took to reach the crater’s edge than it did to reach its center. The smoke also seemed to be thicker than it initially seemed. It was as if the smoke were alive, touching him and checking him over as if it were unsure whether the Prime was worthy of walking through it, there was someone else there too, Thundercracker? The smoke spoke to him, in voices he didn’t know.

_What is this feeling…? …should be happy… ...a hero… He’s finally dead… …finally got my revenge… Why do I feel this way…? what am I going to tell the others…? what am I supposed to…? Oh my God what have I done…? What have I done, what have I done, what have I done what have I- Oh dear God, I don’t feel alive._

It took some time, but Prime began to realize that the voice was his own. Next thing he knew, he was falling.

His entire world shattering around him, like an array of cracks rippling through a glass pane. He felt as though his reality was splitting and merging and vice versa.

He was falling. Through the smoke, his memories playing back before him. It was as if he were watching a classic film, the images were there, but only for a moment, as if he were opening and closing his eyes over again as the image changed before him. He saw a robot with a red head crest shaking him awake, asking him where he’s from or what his name is. He couldn’t remember. He saw a robot yelling at another, telling them that he ‘needed that’ before ordering him to get back to his studies. He saw Delta Magnus, ordering him to join the academy. He saw a red and silver face, offering him a hand and calling himself “Ironhide”. He saw a silver gladiator pumping his fist in the air as thousands cheered him on. He saw that same head-crested robot, smiling at him for the very last time. He saw thousands of spaceships above him. He saw fire. He saw ice. He saw humans running. He saw the head crested robot standing among the flames. He saw the gladiator, crushing his second in command’s head in the palm of his hand. He saw his second in command, dying but not dead in his arms. He saw the head-crested robot, shooting her dead before even bothering to give them medical attention. He saw Delta Magnus’s head on a spike as the gladiator marched it about. He saw a ship crashing.

He was walking. The smoke spoke to him again, voices blurring together but at the same time as clear as it was to decipher the people saying it.

_“You’re a Prime! One of the few commanding officers with a title still connected to high command, one of the few even chosen for the role! You’re not like those self-appointing ‘Independents’ like Grimlock, Springer or-or Chromia, you possess an Ark-Class Spacecraft- despite doing nothing with it for the past decade but fly around, aimlessly through space. You are a Prime-Commander and You. Have. A DUTY!”_

He climbed the slope of the crater, coming to walk on all fours as he managed his balance.

_“You, my friend, are a monster. You must enjoy seeing others in pain, don’t you?”_

He scraped his arm on a piece of shrapnel, Energon leaking from the wound as he pushed himself forward. He couldn’t feel the pain.

_“Billions died today, and with the rate this war is going, billions will die tomorrow, and the next day and so on.”_

He tried to pull himself forward but stammered, letting his frustration fuel his climb.

_“What’s wrong Autobot? Afraid to see a little blood?”_

Space-dust covered his optics as he pulled on the rock, blinding him as he tried to wipe it away.

_“It appears that your friend has abandoned you, pity, friends are never a good thing to keep, they have a tendency to betray you when you least expect it.”_

He wondered about Ironhide, what if he was stuck in this pit for much longer? Would Ironhide just assume he was dead? What’s there to say he hadn’t already left.

_“This entire universe is… is on a slant, and I am the balancing point.”_

He didn’t know when he had arrived at the Ark, one moment he was in the pit, and the next he was standing in the Ark’s doorway.

                ‘… Ironhide?’

The black Autobot bounded into view, a look of shock plastered across his face. ‘Optimus! You’re alive—what was that explosion? Oh forget it, come here; let me use the repair ray on you. You got any spare arms around here?’


	11. The Start of Something Beautiful/Ugly

Starscream was alive.

It was a difficult fact for even him to believe, but it kept him moving. With his nervous system disconnected with his lower half and his limbs broken beyond belief, he was reduced to a crawling wreck, but he was still alive. He wasn’t sure where he was going or whether or not he had been abandoned by the others, but regardless, he was _not_ going to let himself die any time soon. He grunted upon breaking the tip of his finger against a large piece of stone and kept moving only to be showered by a blinding white light from above. Curling into a ball, the seeker tried to cover his eyes only for the flashes of crimson to poor in through his lids. Surrendering himself to the light, he opened his eyes and exposed himself to it. He wondered…

                ‘…God? Is that you?’

The light faded and a large purple ramp landed before him, standing within the light was a single silhouette.

                ‘No…’ said the shadow, ‘It’s just me…’

Soundwave turned his back to the seeker, walking back into the Nemesis as it began to take off once again. Convinced not to be left behind, Starscream wiggled and struggled up the ramp, making his way into the Nemesis holding deck. Once inside, Soundwave was nowhere to be seen. He had assumingly left for the bridge, probably chatting up with Megatron, the two had known each other since the beginning after all. One of the only remaining pit-fighters from all those years ago and now the head of communications, what a ways to go, Starscream thought.

Crawling his way to the bridge, Thundercracker was waiting for him, his fingers trembling over the controls as Skywarp laid within a large tube-like container, his body preserved for further medical attention at Kaon. Thundercracker barely seemed to notice the Aerospace Commander as he entered the room, nor did he seem to care after what he had seen previously.

                ‘Thundercracker.’ Starscream could only manage saying his name so loud, ‘where is—what’s going on?’

Thundercracker stared at him, his pale optics flashing a bright white, ‘I just—he’s gone.’

                Starscream’s optics rolled, ‘Yes of course, the Prime is gone now so—kaff—there’s no need for you to fear any longer, I… scared them off.’ He closed his optics, ‘these scratches are from—because… I… tripped and—‘

                ‘I’m not talking about the Prime!’ Thundercracker spat. ‘Don’t you get it? It’s Megatron, he—‘

                ‘What about Megatron?’ Soundwave entered the bridge, his head reared in a manner of disgust. A rare occasion as he never gave off any hint of emotion otherwise.

                ‘He—he’s—’ Thundercracker lowered his head, calming himself before answering. ‘He’s dead. Megatron is dead. Optimus Prime killed him.’

There was silence on the bridge. All three parties dealing with their news in their own ways.

                ‘He’s—’Starscream couldn’t manage to finish his sentence. He couldn’t even finish the thought. Megatron is ____. What does that mean? What does that even—?

                ‘He’s not.’ Starscream finally spluttered, a wad of drool dripping down the corner of his cheek. ‘He’s not actually, he still—we haven’t—he can’t—he— we—.’Unable to process the information, Starscream’s head fell, clanging against the cold, metal floor.

Thundercracker turned to Soundwave for a reaction. The officer didn’t move, frozen in place before managing an ‘Oh,’ and resuming his tasks.

The blue seeker turned to the unconscious Skywarp and Starscream, and then to the ignorant Soundwave, wondering aloud: ‘what the hell is going on around here?!’

\-----

They waited twenty minutes after the Nemesis departed to uncloak the Ark. Ironhide rose from his work-bench, his repair ray all but depleted. ‘So… I guess they just assumed you vanished in the explosion after all.’

Optimus nodded, flexing and stretching his newly crafted arm. ‘Yeah, I guess… I used Sky-Line’s ship as a means of escape, but I—‘

He checked his words, ‘—but I don’t know about Megatron.’ He lied, ‘I’m thinking he retreated when he thought I was dead.’

Ironhide shrugged, tossing aside the dysfunctional piece of equipment and slouching against the wall. ‘At least he’s out of our hair for the time being.’

Optimus nodded again. His optics squinting as he began to notice a severe lack of presence. ‘Ironhide, where is Blackarachnia?’

The bulkier Autobot didn’t answer, his optics shifting from side to side.

                ‘Ironhide.’ Prime repeated, ‘what have you done with Blackarachnia?’

The burly Autobot sighed, lifting himself back on his feet and stretching his calves. ‘I shot her… or at least that’s what I _want_ to say. I had her locked up in the brig, made sure she wouldn’t escape this time.

Exhaling, Optimus motioned Ironhide to follow, and the duo walked to the brig in silence. Inside one of the cells was Blackarachnia, sitting with her knees below her chin, her wrists bound with a pair of stasis-cuffs. Unlocking the cell, Optimus approached the Decepticon with an air of assurance.

                ‘Do it.’ Blackarachnia said, ‘shoot me now. Either that or you hand me over to be dissected and experimented upon by your Autobot scientists. Best case scenario is I survive to rot in jail for an eternity… you call that justice? End me now and give me mercy.’

Optimus struggled, realizing that he was still holding on to Starscream’s cannon, he raised it to Blackarachnia’s helm, watching as she shut her four optics. A bead of oil trickling down her cheek. He tried to make out her face, to pull the trigger, but all he could see was Megatron.

Ironhide placed a heavy hand on his newly constructed shoulder, ‘Do it.’

                ‘No.’ Optimus moved the barrel of the gun away from her head and tossed it across the room, watching as it shattered into several individual parts before kicking at Blackarachnia’s stasis cuffs and setting her free. ‘No more killing, no more faceplates, no more war. We’re done here.’

Both robots looked on in shock, in time they had both erupted into a one-sided argument, agreeing that what Optimus was doing was wrong.

                ‘You’re just going to let her go?!’ Ironhide snarled, ‘after everything she’s done, after she’s killed Sky-Line and Incision?!’

                ‘Please, I don’t even _want_ to go, I have nowhere _to_ go! Just kill me you coward!’

                ‘ENOUGH!’ Optimus screamed and both robots fell silent. He turned to Blackarachnia, ‘I’m not killing you, I’m not setting you free, and I’m sure as hell not going to hand you over to Prowl. From now on this Ark…’ he gestured to the walls around him, ‘is neither Autobot nor Decepticon property, it’s _my_ property, and therefore, you are _my_ prisoner.’

Blackarachnia was struck silent, unsure of how to respond.

                ‘Look, you have no place in this universe, I have no place in this universe…’ Optimus turned to Ironhide, ‘and I _know_ you have nowhere to be either, Ironhide.’ He pressed the tips of his fingers together, eyeing them carefully, ‘The three of us… I think we can make it through all this… together. I think we can fix these mistakes.’

                ‘So what are you asking of me exactly?’ Blackarachnia wondered, massaging her wrists, ‘to stay here, locked up as your prisoner?’

He shook his head, ‘I’m asking you to join me. As one outcast to another, help me clean up what our war has done to this galaxy.’

                ‘Out of the question.’ Ironhide spat, his arms crossed and his optics flaring vigorously, ‘You can’t expect me to accept this Prime. She _killed_ people, Prime, she killed Incision!’

Optimus took a large step towards his fellow Autobot, his stance mirroring his in terms of aggression, ‘Like you killed that seeker?’

Ironhide was taken aback, trying to form a concise argument only to stumble his words, ‘Well, I don’t know if I _killed_ him but—‘

                ‘But you tried. You could have disabled him but no, you tried to end his life like you have just as many cons in the past. We are soldiers Ironhide, we have all killed other members of our race.’ He turned back to Blackarachnia, ‘and for the record, I _don’t_ forgive you, I _can’t._ But if we are ever going to grow out of this stupid debacle we call a war…’ he held out his hand, ‘I think we need to learn how to cope with each other first.’

Blackarachnia hesitated before standing, ‘And… you’re actually going to trust me.’

                ‘You can do what you want, escape, steal from me, kill Ironhide—‘

                ‘Hey!’

                ‘—But just so you know, if you try to kill anyone at any time without my permission, I _will_ kill you, I think that’s a good enough reason for me to trust you won’t do anything stupid.’

Blackarachnia sighed, placing her hand over his, ‘Yeah… fine. It’s not like I have any friends to bunk with anyways.’

Optimus turned to Ironhide who remained unhinged.

                ‘You can’t expect me to be okay with this.’

                ‘But will you stay?’

He growled before placing his hand over Prime and Blackarachnia’s, ‘You couldn’t keep me away, after all, who else is going to watch your back when you’ve got this creep running around?’ he said, motioning to the Decepticon.

They nodded, and Optimus reeled back, ‘Alright, then it’s settled, you two are going to accompany me for as long as—well, for as long as we’re all comfortable I suppose..’

                ‘I can’t say I’m at all comfortable.’ Blackarachnia said, ‘this doesn’t mean I’m an Autobot now, does it?’

                ‘Well the Autobots aren’t going to kill us at least.’ Optimus said, ‘but… no, we’re not working for them.’ Optimus managed to muster a properly heroic stance. ‘We’re not Autobots… _or_ Decepticons. We’re… _Spacefarers.’_ He waited for a response.

                ‘Lame.’ Blackarachnia decided, folding her arms, ‘that sounded really lame.’

Ironhide pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead, ‘For the only time ever… I agree.’

Optimus waving a hand in dismissal, ‘Whatever, all I’m asking is for the two of you to accompany me while I try to find someone.’

Ironhide raised a brow, ‘Find someone?’

Optimus shook his head, ‘Find trouble… you know-- to solve, like heroes… that reminds me, Blackarachnia, would you mind doing me a favor?’

She cracked her fingers. ‘First order of business eh? What’s the plan?’

Optimus got on his knees, feeling the floor before uncovering a nook. He pulled back, unhinging a panel and revealing a space in the floor. ‘Can you get in the hole while Prowl’s group drops by?’

\-----

Optimus wasn’t present when they loaded the three bodies into the bags, but he was there when they needed their questions answered. Most of them anyway.

                ‘And the drone escaped?’ Sonar asked, a pen in one hand and a data pad in the other.

                ‘That’s right, chances are it escaped with Megatron when the Nemesis picked them up.’

Sonar took a moment to file the jot before folding the data pad away into her hip-compartment. ‘Yeah, that’ll do, I can fill out the rest on my own…’

Optimus huffed, ‘Thanks Sonar, you’re the best. Primus knows how much Prowl cares about detail-and only-detail.’

Sonar didn’t seem fazed, ‘Prowl cares. He doesn’t show it, but he cares about his people.’

                ‘I appreciate it Sonar, but you’re a terrible liar.’

She seemed slightly upset by the comment, but far from offended, ‘Do you really think I’m lying?’

Prime leaned against the Ark, watching as Streetwise and Groove moved Incision’s casket onto their ship. Ironhide seemed to be chatting with their commander, Hotspot, speaking to him in a serious manner. ‘Either you are lying, or you really want to believe that Prowl cares about me. I’ve known Prowl longer than anyone Sonar, I was there when he lost any chance of having a soul ever again.’

Sonar shrugged, ‘I won’t try to convince you then, just remember that if you need anything, we’ll do our best to supply. Also…’ She stopped herself, leaning in towards Optimus so that her voice wouldn’t travel to unwanted ears, ‘Pardon my asking, but are you okay? You seem… upset.’

                ‘Upset?’ Optimus stared at the ground before locking eyes with the dark femme once again, ‘I’ve never been better.’

\-----

Hotspot nodded, eyeing Optimus so that he was sure he couldn’t see what was occurring between him and Ironhide. ‘Understood, I’m certain Prowl has similar feelings towards this information.’

                ‘Look, I don’t know _what_ Prowl has going on around his head, and I don’t _want_ to know. I just want to see—‘

Hotspot nodded again, moving him along, ‘Yes, absolutely, she’s right over here.’

Guided by Hotspot, Ironhide ducked into the ship’s under-hangar, coming across the three caskets containing Sky-Line, Cog and Incision respectfully. Certain he and Hotspot were the only ones in the room, he opened Cog’s casket to find the silver and bronze femme staring back at him, her optics glowing, alive.

                ‘Hi.’ She said.

                ‘Hey Cog.’ Ironhide managed, ‘I did as you said, I didn’t tell Optimus.’

                ‘Good.’

                ‘He still thinks you’re dead.’

                ‘Good.’

Ironhide didn’t bother asking any questions, considering how complicated the situation already was.

                ‘I can’t have him try to find me.’ She said, answering before he could ask, ‘Where I’m going— well, I’m heading back to Kimia. Whatever happens, wherever Optimus is trying to go, it cannot be Kimia.’

Ironhide nodded, ‘So you want me to set him in the opposite direction?’

                ‘That’d be preferred, I _can’t_ tell you what lies there for him, but if I can trust you to do this…’

Ironhide outstretched a servo, ‘No sweat, there’s no need to tell me what to do.’

Cog exhaled in relief, ‘Thanks so much, well, I suppose this is goodbye.’

Ironhide shrugged, turning around, ‘For the last time I suppose?’

But she did not answer.

                ‘Well then, see you later, Cog.’

She muttered something into her faceplate and Ironhide turned back around, ‘What?’

                ‘I said Cog isn’t my real name.’

The black Autobot lowered his optical lids, feeling both tired and confused, ‘You’re not going to tell me your real name, _are_ you?’

She laughed, prompting Ironhide to leave, as he reached the exit however, the engineer spoke up once again.

                ‘T-AI.’

Ironhide looked back

                ‘My name is T-AI.’

\-----

Optimus wandered back into the cell-block, double-checking to see that Sonar and the others had left.

                ‘Blackarachnia!’ he called, ‘they’re gone; you can come out now.’

The floor panels parted as the black and gold Decepticon climbed out, inhaling deeply, ‘You wouldn’t believe how stuffy it was down there, like—for real, not even a little fun, but hey!’ she waved a small rectangular package. ‘I think someone dropped some porn down here!’

Optimus sighed, eyeing the halls for Ironhide, ‘put that down Blackarachnia.’

She shrugged, tossing it aside, ‘Fine, fine, where’s tall, dark and angry?’

                ‘He should be… ah! That’s right, I told him to wait on the main bridge.’

Saving himself the time to walk there, Optimus opened his communicator and dialed Ironhide.

                ‘Ironhide, are you—‘

                ‘ _On the Bridge? Yeah, I’ve got the controls right in front of me.’_

                ‘That’s great, you know how to work it yeah?’

                ‘ _Of course I know how to work it, you just… push the knob and turn the doohickey…’_

‘Noooo you pull the knob and _twist_ the doohickey.’

                ‘ _Okay… Uh Oh._

_‘_ What.’

_‘I don’t think it’s working…’_

‘You can’t be serious, are you jiggling the—‘

                ‘ _Yes I’m jiggling the key, I’m pulling and twisting as hard as I can here.’_

                ‘Do it harder.’

                ‘ _I’m doing it harder.’_

_‘_ Then do it harder, _harder._ ’

                ‘ _I’m trying!’_

                ‘Come on Ironhide, just—tug it a little more, I believe in you!’

                _‘Almost...’_ the ship roared as it’s warp engine activated and it’s thrusters torched the asteroid beneath it, ‘ _got it!_ ’

Optimus grinned, the feeling of doing so without a faceplate felt alien for some reason. ‘Good work Ironhide.’ He turned to Blackarachnia who simply stared at him, jaw-dropped.

                ‘What. The hell.’

                ‘You see?’ Optimus said, placing his hands on his hips obliviously, ‘all it takes is a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of Energon.’

Just as the Ark began to ascend off of the rock, it just as quickly came crashing down, lifting off only to descend upon a different asteroid once again. Lights flashed in the bridge before flickering and fading to a blank. In time, the lights within the Ark all shut off at once, leaving the three robots stunned.

Ironhide stood up, massaging the back of his neck, ‘Optimus…’ he said into his communicator, ‘how much Energon does the Ark have in its tank?’

There was a pause.

_‘Not a whole lot.’_


	12. Kaon City Lights

                A spray of dark red flames and murky brown mud shot at Sparkscape from his left as the shattered remains of his former medic ‘Tyroc’ caught his optic from the right. There was no time to mourn him, as from this point on there was only what was ahead, and what was behind. Ahead of him was the bombarded remains of his former base as trails of smoke and embers rose from its barren husk. How a flat equipped with all sorts of state of the art weapons systems, armored hulls, and Red Alert approved security could fall so suddenly and so violently was anyone’s guess, but that no longer mattered to Sparkscape. Behind him was a massive six wheeled assault tank, coloured with whites and golds, and fitted with a pair of large bronze-gold missile launchers, reflecting the nearby sun as they rotated, locking on to Sparkscape’s back.

The missiles fired, soaring towards their target as a trail of black smoke steamed from their after bodies. The moment he was aware they were air-born, Sparkscape leaped forward, using the wreckage to his advantage he tore up a piece of aluminum plating from a broken hull. One missile tore right past him while the other struck his cobbled “shield” dead center, shattering it into tiny slivers of metal and mangling his arm twisted and unusable in the process. Luckily, it gave Sparkscape just the right amount of time to escape and hide behind one of the bases broken support pillars. There, he activated his communicator, desperate for any sort of help that may be available, ‘Hello? This is Sparkscape, warrant officer of Fort Trax under Flatfoot’s command, calling the Autobot Orbital Command Hub. I don’t know if you’ve already received a message or not but it damn well isn’t going to stop me from trying anyway. I think I’m the only one left. I don’t know who I’m up against or how many are out there, but I’m currently being chased by a massive Decepticon tank of some kind. If anyone’s out there, please, _please_ send help, I can’t imagine how this could—‘

But before he could finish, Sparkscape was showered in a white oval of light, stinging his optics blind as he tried to make out what was going on above him. He peered upwards through flinching optics to find a sleek, twin-rotor’d helicopter hovering above. It descended slowly as Sparkscape unshielded his optics. He was almost convinced that he had been saved, but it wasn’t until the helicopter began to break apart did he realize how wrong he was.

The flier transformed, forming an almost serpent-like robot. It had no legs, only a single ‘tail’ like appendage that dangled from the its waist, connecting to a body that looked thin and fragile in the abdominal, but wider and bulkier in its upper half. The robot looked as though it was hunched over, though this was in part due to its longer neck and almost insect-like head. The robot hovered perpetually off the ground as its rotors remained unchanged, sprouting out of either shoulder and glowing a bright blue as they spun silently. The robot’s armor was smooth with an alien-like touch, coloured with a green so dark that it almost looked grey as the visible, softer inner workings and wires shone a bright crimson. What stood out most to Sparkscape however was the pair of bright green optics that shone through the blackness of its helmet.

The robot (if you could call it that) raised a thin, spindly servo whereas long, crimson, tendril-like fingers sprouted towards the Autobot. Unable to react, Sparkscape coughed up a plume of oil as the robot struck its servo clean through the Autobot’s chest, wrapping his fingers around his spark out the other side. But that wasn’t what shocked Sparkscape the most from this encounter.

                ‘It’s strange I—I don’t feel any pain.’

                ‘Oh, you will.’ Obsidian promised as he crushed the Autobot’s spark between his digits.

\----

In time, after the Autobot had finally died out and his screams had stopped, the white and gold tank rolled up alongside Obsidian, violently lashing out as it transformed into a hulking robot, its missile neatly tucked away behind its back and its head untucked itself from the main body revealing an almost gas-mask-like apparatus of a faceplate.

                ‘He was mine.’ The tank said, its voice revealing itself to be female.

                ‘If he was yours you’d have been the one to kill him, Strika.’ Obsidian replied unenthusiastically ‘How many did you get?’

Strika folded her arms. ‘Fourteen, you?’

                ‘Fourteen.’

She sighed, kicking aside the poor Autobot’s corpse in an act of frustration, ‘A tie? Ugh… it could be worse I suppose.’

Obsidian extended a spindly finger to the west, ‘Let’s go, I can still feel the stupid emanating from their copses.’

\-----

                ‘Obsidian? Obsidian are you awake?’

The Decepticon activated his optics with a stutter, ‘Yeah, yes, sorry Strika I was just resting my eyes.’

The larger of the two—Strika— had been manning the rental ship from the pilot’s seat. It thing was a piece of junk that could only move them a few light years at a time, but it did its job. ‘Whatever you say, though you might as well snooze; it’ll be a long, non-stop cruise on this hunk of junk before we reach Kaon.’

Obsidian raised a brow, ‘Are you crazy? There’s no way we’re not stopping for something to eat on the way first, not on my watch.’

Strika pumped her fist ecstatically, ‘Fragging sweet!’

Within the span of another ten minutes, the duo had come across what was best described as a “Space Diner”, built into a part of a large asteroid field filled with several other housing and institutional complexes that orbited the uninhabitable planet below. Thanks to the free docking, Strika had immediately hooked onto the Diner’s parking hammock before stepping out. The diner was filled with different sized booths for different species, ranging from small to large between organic and mechanical, leading them towards a booth labeled for “Medium-Large: Mechanicals”. Obsidian took a brief moment to nod respectfully to a smaller multi-limbed creature before sitting down opposite to Strika, an automatic menu popped up and either robot filed their orders.

                ‘Four rods of nucleon, an aluminum steak and a fresh glass of Tear-Jerker.’ Strika ordered.

                ‘Just Energon thanks.’ Obsidian said.

As the orders went through, Strika flipped out her communicator, scrolling through whatever she tended to use it for. ‘I still don’t get how you Gonatarians do It.’ she wondered aloud.

                ‘It’s just pure Energon, simple as that.’

Strika looked up from her communicator as a server-bot dropped off their meals, ‘Yeah, but, haven’t you ever had the craving for an aluminum steak or a Prime rib?’

Obsidian pursed his invisible lips, having had this conversation hundreds of times with her already. ‘It’s metal, _we’re_ metal.’

                ‘Everything’s made of metal.’ Strika retorted, ‘doesn’t mean what I’m eating is the same as… eating a rocket ship, or a box.’

                ‘Let’s just say I do it to stay healthy and leave it at that.’ Obsidian decided. Sipping calmly from his drink, the Decepticon peered his head at Strika’s communicator as she chewed on her aluminum.

                ‘What are you looking at?’ he asked.

                ‘Messages, we’ve been left with a few.’

                ‘From who?’

                ‘Uhh… Oil Slick left a couple, he’s still having trouble finding a new team since the surge.’

He took a quiet sip from his Energon. ‘A shame.’

                ‘Yeah, Spittor too, well, technically that’s because he’s in prison, but they still let him message his friends apparently.’

                ‘“Friends”, right… What about Scalpel?’

                ‘Haven’t heard from him, I’m sure he’s found work. I _know_ Blot’s found work, ever since Sixshot took him in.’

                ‘Good for him.’

                ‘Yeah… Oh hey, I got a message from Soundwave too.’

                ‘Soundwave? Weird, what’s it say?’

She shrugged. ‘Don’t know, I’m opening it now.’

Tapping at the screen, Strika took in another fork-full of Aluminum as Obsidian wondered to himself, ‘Whatever happened to Blackout?’

She clicked the lagging message impatiently as she answered, speaking with her mouth full. ‘The kid? I don’t know, I’m 90% certain he’s in Garrus 9.’

                ‘Huh, sucks for him then.’

                ‘Yeah— damn this message must be long if it’s—there, it’s open. “It is my displeasure of—’ She made a “pfft” noise, turning to face Obsidian, ‘of _course_ it’s Soundwave if he uses a thousand words to make a quick check in.’

                ‘Yeah.’ Obsidian suddenly didn’t feel like drinking anymore, deciding to watch Strika as she ate and read at the same time instead. ‘Oh yeah, Mindwipe, I nearly forgot about Mindwipe.’

                ‘He defected didn’t he?’

                ‘I thought he just went neutral.’

                ‘Oh, well I haven’t been keeping up much with—’ Strika suddenly lurched forward, spitting her chewed aluminum all over Obsidian face in shock.

                Obsidian ascended above his seat, his rotors glowing furiously. ‘Gonatarian count back down to zero…’ he muttered, spitting out a piece of chewed aluminum. ‘Now just what the hell was _that_ for?!’

Strika dropped her communicator, staring at the table lifelessly.

Obsidian began to sober as he recognized the look in his consort’s optics. ‘Strika?’

She raised her head, ‘Obsidian. Megatron’s dead.’

\-----

Starscream woke with a start, his mind nothing but a whitewashed canvas. But upon questioning where he was, his memories of the previous day began to sink in. The battle. His failure. The news—

From his left entered a familiarly narrow face. It was a red, slender bodied Cybertronian, soaking up the oil on his hands with a cloth and wearing a petulant grin. ‘Well, well, look who’s finally decided to wake up.’

Starscream sat himself up and massaged the back of his head. ‘Knockout…’

The sleek doctor raised a hand. ‘Ah, ah, don’t worry, I managed to mend you back together from scratch so you don’t have to worry about looking unattractive in public, not that it’s stopped you before but...’

                ‘I’m not in the mood for this Knockout.’ Starscream mumbled, staring at his knees. ‘My memory is… hazy.’

Knockout’s smirk remained, but the look in his optics didn’t seem to match the way his mouth expressed. ‘Very well… ‘

\-----

Starscream sat at the edge of his recharge slab, his legs dangling off the side. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Knockout frowned, prompting Starscream to explain himself. ‘I mean—no. I am completely aware of the facts, and that there is a 100% chance that what you said is entirely true, but somehow, no matter how much I try, I just cannot accept that he is dead. It’s like—even if I know it’s true, the concept of Megatron not being alive just feels… impossible. He just isn’t dead to me.’

Knockout shrugged. ‘Well, he is, Soundwave recovered the body as proof if you want to see it.’

                ‘I might, actually.’

Knockout sneered once again. ‘I’m certain you of all bots would love that.’

There was a moment of long pause before Starscream would say anything. ‘What?’

                ‘Oh please…’ Knockout’s optics narrowed slyly. ‘It was moi who administered your wounds those many times before, no? We are both well aware that Megatron favored you as his personal punching bag over any other Decepticon. How else did you get the title of “Megatron’s bitch” by every-‘

Knockout came to regret what he said almost immediately as Starscream leaped before him. His thrusters rotating forward and firing a weak pulse that sent Knockout rocketing back into his equipment, syringes and vials shattering and spilling over him. ‘My paint…’ Knockout moaned as Starscream lunged at him, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the back wall.

                ‘Say that again.’ Starscream was smiling, though he knew it was as a way to compensate for how furious and embarrassed he already was. ‘Say what you just said to me, what you just called me one more time, I want you to tell me how you feel about your superior just this once.’

Knockout didn’t respond, though Starscream wasn’t sure whether it was because of a lack of breath or because he was too scared to answer. He didn’t care, for inflicting pain upon the red doctor was enough to make him satisfied. He began to loosen his grip as a large cobalt figure with a red face and silver highlights appeared in the doorway. It was Knockout’s assistant, Breakdown. The bulky figure watched them, his optics wide with surprise as Starscream dropped the doctor.

                ‘Breakdown!’ Starscream called over to the larger Decepticon. ‘Where’s Flatline? I should’ve received treatment from a real doctor, not this bundle of sticks.’

Breakdown bared his teeth as he proceeded to help his partner. ‘He’s busy fixing up your buddy Skywarp, you know, they guy that had his entire face ripped off?’

Starscream clasped his hands together, satisfied, and prepared to leave. ‘Thank you, finally, someone that knows how to be useful around here. I imagine Thundercracker is with him?’

He shook his head. ‘No… he’s out.’

                ‘Out where?’

Knockout cracked his jaw into place as he rose to his feet. ‘The funeral obviously.’

\-----

                ‘Wow.’

Starscream couldn’t believe what he was seeing, for the first time in what felt like centuries, New Kaon had been fully populated. The usually vacant streets were filled with a rainbow of coloured locomotives and the naturally clear blue skies over Kaon was blanketed with hundreds of thousands of ships, awaiting directions for their new arrival.

                ‘Wow.’ Starscream repeated, walking forward. He couldn’t help but listen in on the passing conversations, curious as to how these new arrivals brain modules operated.

                ‘I didn’t expect so many.’ The dark and pudgy Decepticon: Runabout said, ‘were there really this many of us before the surge?’

                ‘No idea.’ The taller and sleeker Battletrap replied, his rotors whirring, ‘I knew there were a lot but this is just _intense._ It’s an _intense_ amount!’

                ‘It’s a wakeup call.’ Starscream said, coming between the two and startling them both. ‘For the longest time they had no reason to come home but now… now that they know we’re losing the war, it seems that we are finally ready to take back the universe.’

Neither Decepticon reacted, but that was of little concern to Starscream, ‘Pardon me gentlemen, I have some… acquaintances to speak with.’

As he walked away, his hands folded behind his back, he could hear the murmurs of Runabout and Battletrap behind him.

                ‘That was- that was freaking Starscream!’

                ‘I’m not blind! Could you feel the _intensity_ coming off him?!’

                ‘Man… just shut up.’

He smirked, content to find that his presence was still known. It didn’t take long to find what he wanted, or _who_ rather. Small tremors rippled through the ground surrounding a smaller robot as he fisted it with his large, pile driver-like arms. ‘Move it ya chumps!’ He struck the ground again, creating a mini shockwave beneath his pile drivers. The minicon was commanding Pounce and Wingspan to change positions in order to direct another safe landing.

                ‘Rumble!’ Starscream beckoned the small robot who merely glanced at him, glowering. He barked at Wingspan once more before jogging towards the Aerospace commander awkwardly.

                ‘Yeah, what do _you_ want?’

He placed his hands on his hips, observing the hundreds of coming and going Decepticons around him, ‘You know that legion of air warriors, the ones that look up to me on a daily basis…?’

                ‘The Aerospace Legion?’

‘Yes, the Aerospace Legion, _my_ Aerospace Legion.’ He raised a strict brow towards the smaller robot, ‘where are they?’

                ‘Oh’ Rumble shifted his stance, it was evident that his large and out of proportioned arms made it difficult for him, ‘Slipstream took them to the grand event. She’s acting as its representative-- whatever that means.’  

Starscream felt his own glare run cold. ‘And just where might your boss Soundwave hope to fit me in all this?’

Rumble stared at him regretfully, ‘He wants you on-stage with him, you and the rest of High Command.’

He blinked, ‘Oh. Well, tell him I said thanks I guess…’ he prepared to leave, but hesitated. ‘On second thought, _don’t_ tell him I said thanks, I’ll be there shortly.’

Rumble shrugged, ‘Whatever you say.’

\-----

Kaon stadium: the gladiatorial arena where Megatron first made a name for himself, where he proved himself to be worthy of leading the Decepticons, and where it was determined that he was the strongest warrior on the face of Cybertron. It was packed, within the first twenty minutes every seat had been taken, and within thirty there were still more piling in. Starscream could recognize some familiar faces in the front rows, mainly unit commanders that seemed content speaking amongst themselves, but for the most part, for whatever reason, he couldn’t recognize most of their faces. Decepticons like Razorclaw and Motormaster wondered where entire subgroups like the Constructicons or the Combaticons had disappeared to in their long absence while others such as Hun-Gar and Demolishor tried to convince the troubled Lugnut that Megatron had in fact perished, only to watch the frustrated Decepticon leave alongside others in denial such as Blitzwing and Barrage. Standing in the center of the Arena was the Decepticon Conclave, a fancy term for High Command. Founding members Soundwave and Ravage stood side by side in the forefront, the latter of which was his first appearance to most as he had been on non-stop reconnaissance for who-knows-what, he was shorter than most would think, and gave off a beastly aura from the looks of his angled ‘claws’ and jaguar-esque head. Standing amongst them was fuel Auditor Ratbat, a violet metal bat-like creature perching on a stool just so he could reach the same height as the rest of them, sitting alongside the white and turquoise Phase-Sixer Sixshot, standing with his arms crossed as he watched the pooling audience next to the more talkative tank-like Decepticon Tarn.

Tarn’s Decepticon’s sigil-shaped mask moved as he spoke. ‘Who else does that make? First Scorponok, and now Straxus?’

Sixshot merely shrugged uncaringly. ‘Ever since Straxus was placed in charge of Lucifer he’s done nothing but sit on his ass and gloat. I doubt he cared enough to come, let alone send a representative.’

Tarn’s optics appeared to have shut behind his mask. ‘I’ll be sure to send him a representative of my own…’

                ‘I wouldn’t bother’ Ratbat said without moving his gaze away from the crowd. ‘Straxus has his own sandbox to play in, we on the other hand are responsible for focusing our power on more urgent matters.’

                ‘Like what?’ A fourth voice asked.

All three High Command members craned their heads to the arriving Obsidian and Strika.

                ‘Ah, Obsidian, it is… _good_ to see you once again.’ While Ratbat’s words sounded genuine, Tarn and Sixshot seemed less enthralled. ‘We were just speaking of the members of Conclave whom have gone missing as of recently, you know, Overlord, Straxus… Shockwave.’

                ‘Right.’ Obsidian nodded, hovering over to the group, ‘I take it they’re either dead or—‘

                ‘Or they don’t feel required to attend such an event.’ Tarn finished.

Obsidian blinked, ‘… I was going to say they probably didn’t like the idea of taking vaccination shots just to get in. Why did you say that?’

Tarn was reluctant to believe the cluelessness the others had exerted, but decided to explain himself regardless. ‘You don’t truly believe Megatron is dead, do you?’

No one replied.

                ‘You,’ Sixshot snapped his fingers at Strika to get her attention. ‘Is it true what they say? That you were Megatron’s niece? Did you feel any sort of...I don’t know, _disconnection_ around the time he died?’

                ‘No.’

                ‘No you’re not his niece or no you didn’t feel anything?’

But before she could answer, Obsidian motioned to Starscream who had been waving at them to shut up.

Soundwave nodded to the hover-cam as the overhead speakers crackled.

                ‘Attention all Decepticons, this is your announcer Squawkbox speaking. If everyone could just settle down, Soundwave is about to speak. But first, an introduction. Your representing Conclave includes the Head Communications and Surveillance Officer: _Soundwave,_ Head of Intelligence and Infiltration Protocol: _Ravage_ , Commander of the Aerospace Legion and Otherworldly affairs: _Starscream_ , Head Fuel Auditor and Master of Coin: _Ratbat_ , leader of the Decepticon Justice Division and Head of Internal affairs: _Tarn_ , Chief Medical Officer: _Flatline_ , City Commander and S.T.A.G Enforcement Officer: _Sixshot_ , Head Military Strategist _Obsidian_ and Grand Admiral _Strika._ ’ There was a pause, as if Squawkbox wasn’t sure it was worth being said at all, ‘Unfortunately, Shockwave, Scorponok, Overlord, Straxus and Bludgeon remain unresponsive, while the status of the latter three are known, we are unsure of whether Shockwave and Scorponok are even alive.’

Many of the crowd clapped awkwardly while others remained talking amongst themselves, ignoring what was being said. With this in mind, Soundwave stepped forward and activated his comm link to speak through the surround system. ‘My fellow Decepticons, as you are all aware, I had sent each and every one of you a personal message detailing the death of our leader Megatron. Unfortunately this is the absolute truth. It is a hard fact to admit, but we are _losing_ the war. We have been ever since the Surge ended in failure. While the Autobots have not been doing particularly “well” either, they have maintained dominance, their outposts are still standing and their motivations are clear. We on the other hand have been separated and eliminated one by one, losing some of our finest in the process. Megatron thought to change this, he _let_ you all work in your respective ways, but he knew if he didn’t do something himself, then there would be no change. He used a drone crafted by Shockwave to seek and destroy heavily fortified outposts, when the drone was finally trounced, it would send a signal to Megatron, leading him to its killer so that he could eliminate them himself, thus starting over the process once again as a means of rooting out the Autobots deadliest forces one by one. Unfortunately, the plan was a failure in every sense of the word, not only has the drone proven herself traitor, but Megatron has been killed by an Autobot, a Prime.’

There were brief murmurs of disbelief in the crowd as Soundwave turned towards the center of the arena. Snapping his fingers, the panels of the arena floor began to shift as the Conclave scattered. Ratbat flapped away screeching as Sixshot transformed into his jet mode, flying off alongside Starscream while Flatline, Strika and Tarn transformed into land vehicles and drove in separate directions. Obsidian on the other hand refused to move, hovering over the shifted panels carelessly as a separate floor ascended into place like a new layer of skin. Locked into the floor was a chair, connected by several different cords and wires that spread outwards and into the arena walls. Sitting in the chair, with his head exposed like a canopy was Thundercracker.

                ‘What I can only guess many of you are wondering, “just who is this Autobot and how could he have killed Megatron?”’

                ‘What I want to know is how we can trust Megatron is really dead.’ A cry came from the crowd. It was Demolishor, a robot that could best be described as two massive wheels stacked vertically with a pair of claws coming out of either side. ‘You’ve got to understand that it’s a little difficult for us to believe that Megatron was killed by just _some_ nobody.’

Soundwave’s optics glowed a brighter shade of pink from behind his blue visor. ‘I’m glad you asked this Demolishor.’ In an instant, Soundwave’s chest shifted slightly and a pair of long metallic tentacles extended outward. They stopped in the air to click together before shooting in the direction of Thundercracker and latching on to his exposed brain module. The Blue seeker let out a scream as the tentacle twisted and the surrounding tele screens came to life. Each screen played back Thundercracker’s memories, rewinding from the now to the events that occurred before. Thundercracker watched as if time was turning back, he saw Soundwave unstrapping him to his chair and exiting the room, he saw the world moving away from him as he flew backwards, he saw himself lift a hand off of Skywarp’s broken body as he checked up on him, he saw everything move on from there, from the Nemesis taking off and landing over that asteroid once again, to Starscream crawling backwards out of the Nemesis, to the point where he dropped Skywarp off after witnessing the explosion. The scene played out as natural once again, and for a split second, Thundercracker could have sworn he were reliving it.

Thousands of Decepticons gasped in horror as the red Autobot aimed a gun at Megatron’s head, what was being said couldn’t be heard, but the kill was clear. It didn’t just end with one shot, but from multiple loads that continued long after it was evident Megatron was dead. It wasn’t how any of them thought it would occur. No grand self-sacrifice, no blazing defeat in the glory of battle. Just him, an Autobot, and an execution.

                ‘I do not mean to scare you.’ Soundwave’s voice rippled throughout the arena, ‘I only mean to empower you, for this…’ the image zoomed in upon the killer—Optimus’s face, ‘…this is the one responsible for his death. Viewfinder has done a background search, and we have identified him as Optimus Prime, captain of the Ark-19 and graduate of the Autobot War Academy.’

The arena was in chaos, Decepticons growling and spitting indiscriminate slurs at the screen, as if it wasn’t just this Prime they were angered by. Tarn was shaking his head, he seemed unconvinced but the tone of his voice said otherwise, ‘That’s not Megatron, it doesn’t even _look_ like Megatron.’ He turned to Sixshot for support, but the Six-Changer merely shrugged.

The response was just as Soundwave had planned it to be, it was almost _too_ perfect at that, the only thing to make it better was—

He felt a large hand grab him firmly by the shoulder and pull him back, it was Starscream.

                ‘Please, I’ll handle this.’

Soundwave didn’t budge, ‘Starscream, what do you think you’re doing?’

He responded with a smirk, ‘You need to tell people what they want to hear, and what they want to hear is assurance.’ He cleared his throat, stepping ahead of Soundwave and raising a servo to the crowd, ‘Hello Decepticons! May I have your attention for a moment?’

The chatter began to die out as Starscream took center stage, Soundwave was nonplussed, introducing the Aerospace Commander regardless, ‘Now, as this is in fact a funeral, Starscream has asked to say a few things about our beloved Lord Megatron.’

Strika leaned over to Obsidian, snickering, ‘did he just say “beloved”?’

Obsidian barely reacted, ‘You’re surprised by this?’

Starscream took a moment to warrant silence before speaking. ‘Hey everybody, great to see you could make it, I’m certainly glad to be here myself.’ The change in tone was sudden enough to put most if not all of the Decepticons off-guard, but Starscream carried on regardless of the fact. ‘Megatron huh? I think we could all agree on what a great guy he was in his life… Great at ordering retreats upon defeat am I right fellas? Hey-OH!’

Obsidian covered his visor with the palm of his hand, ‘Oh no.’

                ‘But seriously, I think I can speak for all of us when I say that if there’s one thing that can be said about that Megatron, it’s good riddance. Hahah, Zing!’

Soundwave tried to approach the Seeker only to be shoved aside, ‘Speaking of, I heard that whenever he returned to new Kaon, he and Soundwave spent lots of time talking about those tentacles of his if you know what I’m saying, Hahah! You know what I’m talking about!’

He received multiple boos from the crowd and enough for Rumble to yell a ‘Too soon!’

Soundwave gripped Starscream on the shoulder once more, squeezing down as to give a sign of his impatience.

Starscream waved a hand, assuring him he was done, ‘Okay, okay, no need to panic friends, just a bit of humour to lighten the mood, you can find me tonight at Maccadam’s, free drinks on me!’

                ‘Starscream…’

                ‘But seriously everyone, though yet of Megatron our dear leader’s death, the memory be green, and that it us befitted to bear our sparks in grief, and our whole kingdom to be contracted in one brow of woe, yet so far hath discretion fought with nature that we with wisest sorrow think of him together with remembrance of ourselves…’

                ‘Get off the stage!’ Knockout cried out.

                ‘Drop the Shakespeare!’ Breakdown echoed.

                ‘Die!’

Starscream batted his servos in a calming manner, his voice booming across the stadium, ‘Now look, I only mean to make sense of all this. As you are aware, there is now a major space in our command structure once inhabited by our leader Megatron. But. Megatron is old news and old news bores me, now it is time to look to the future and that future is me. As leader of the Decepticon Aerospace Legion and long serving member of the Conclave I hereby nominate myself to take his place as Supreme Commander of the Decepticons. Are there any objections—yay or nay?’

He was met with neither a yay or a nay as the crowd erupted into laughter.

                ‘What—‘

                ‘I should have expected Starscream to campaign at the boss’s funeral.’ Sixshot remarked.

                ‘How untasteful.’ Ratbat agreed.

Starscream grew unhinged as the laughter went up a pitch, ‘Stop laughing… shut up, all of you! Do you really think you have a choice? Who do you expect to take over, Soundwave? Do you really want someone like him throwing orders at you?!’

But he was only responded with more scorn and hate. It was Slipstream and the Aerospace Legion that laughed the loudest.

                ‘You think you can do better?! Do you think you’re all better than me?!’ Starscream’s concealed weaponry activated, spawning out of shifting panels across his body, alighting him with the glow of powering laser cannons. ‘WELL COME ON THEN! I’LL TAKE ALL OF YOU IDIOTS ON!’

As the crowd roared and the sound of all sorts of weaponry cocked, loaded and unsheathed, Starscream felt a blow to his gut. Looking down, he found that he had been kicked in the stomach by Soundwave. Before he could respond, Soundwave unfurled a tentacle that struck itself into Starscream’s chest and sent multiple shocks throughout his chassis, shutting down is kinetic systems and forcing him on to his knees.

                ‘This is not about you, Starscream, it was never about you.’ He raised a hand to the audience, beckoning them to calm down. ‘But you aren’t wrong, we _are_ in need of a new commander, and at the moment, very few of us are fit for the duty.’ He gazed upon the frozen image of Prime’s face once more, ‘But that is why I show you this, this Autobot is responsible for what has been done, and what it means, it means that we must come together once again, for if our strongest is able to fall to an Autobot, then any one of us is liable to be next. Stand together my brothers and sisters, for there will be reward, for the first time in twenty years we have come together, and together we shall end this war with a new leadership. We are not Autobots, we will not base our command structure off of false prophecies or “first past the post” fallacies. We shall determine leadership upon whoever proves themselves to be the most capable, just as Megatron has foretold. Ratbat, Ravage, Tarn and I have placed a bounty on Optimus Prime’s head, whoever manages to kill this Autobot Captain is to become the next Decepticon Supreme Commander.’

Thousands of voices cheered and applauded the decision as Soundwave continued, ‘There are rules to this bounty however, the one being that you may not under any circumstances kill another Decepticon unless it is an action made out of self-defence, to affirm this, the vaccination shots each of you took upon coming here has filled your blood-streams with multiple optical sensors in order for Spectro, Spyglass, Viewfinder and myself to monitor your progress. Those in the galaxy who have not received the shot will be required a mandatory mind reading after the fact in order to prove their legitimacy. Should any of you go against this terms, Tarn and the Justice Division will place you at the top of their list of kill targets. Your first step is to manage yourselves into groups as I am certain most of you already have, if any Decepticon registered in that group kills Optimus Prime, then it will be their squad commander that gains the title, meanwhile the rest of the squadron will be granted seats in the Conclave. If the Commander does not wish for Supreme Leadership, then they will be granted the power of selection, and will therefore be responsible for electing the next Commander themselves. This will be no easy task however, as the target has since masked his signature, going off the grid for both Autobots and Decepticons alike. With this in mind, kill Optimus Prime. Do it for power. Do it for glory. Do it for revenge. Do it for the Decepticon Empire. Do it for Megatron.’

Soundwave raised his fist to the sky. ‘FOR MEGATRON!’

Thousands of robots mirrored him, their fists towards the sky as they shouted in union, ‘FOR MEGATRON!’

The cries echoed throughout the massive stadium and the ground shook under their loyal voices. The rhythm melded and twisted as one million Decepticons chanted the word “Hail” all at once, their fists pointing to the sky as they did so.

Starscream rose to his feet once again, shocked and confused by what was happening. Next to him, Sixshot Transformed, jetting to the sky alongside many others as they began to pour out, their motivations clear. ‘I will kill him…’ Starscream whispered, prompting to the ever-listening Soundwave to peer at him, ‘I will kill the Prime… and take my birthright.’

Soundwave stared at the Seeker for a moment before turning back to the crowd, observing what he had accomplished.

‘HAIL!’

‘HAIL!’

‘HAIL!’

                ‘Just you wait… all of you.’ Starscream continued, ‘give me a month—no, a week, in one week I will be the one coming home with his head, just you wait—in a week you will all be licking my boots.’

 

\-----

_One Week Later_

                ‘Change?’

The streets of Kaon were fully populated, as they had been for the past week, the skies filled with a plethora of multicoloured ships coming and going amidst their searches. Around the city however were those who had no acquaintances—no power. The “Empties” as they called them, homeless robots that lived on the streets, begging for coin to spend on Engex and Sike just to sustain their addictions. Perched against the Old Oil House was a metal box, and living inside that box was a thin, broken down Cybertronian, curled into a ball and holding out a mug for:

                ‘Spare change?’

Several different shades of robots walked passed him, some ignoring him completely, some stopping to drop a few shanix into the mug, but most would snicker amongst themselves. Among them was a blue seeker carrying bags of groceries, glancing only briefly at the homeless Cybertronian before moving on. As the Seeker prepared to walk on without a moment’s notice, he stopped. ‘Couldn’t be.’ Backing up, he peered into the metal box, spotting the crumbling robot inside. ‘Starscream? Is that you?’ he dropped his bags and brought a hand to his chest, ‘It is! Starscream, look, it’s me, Thundercracker, what are you doing here-- Like this?’

Starscream growled, but relented, crawling out of the box and rising to Thundercracker’s height. ‘I failed.’ He said.

                ‘What do you mean?’

                ‘It was a unanimous vote, Slipstream is now Aerospace Commander over me, and I am without a job. I tried buying troops via gambling but lost it all, now I’m…’

                ‘Pathetic.’ Thundercracker finished, folding his arms.

Starscream tried to show aggression towards his former flying compatriot but just simply couldn’t bring himself to it.

Thundercracker shook his head, ‘Look at you Starscream, broke, depressed, living in a box, wearing a fake beard.’ He proceeded to rip the false piece of plastic off of his former commander’s face.

                ‘Hey!’

                ‘Whatever happened to the Starscream _I_ knew? The one that thought he was better than everyone else for some reason, the one who associated people to maggots and peasants… I mean, I can’t say that wasn’t stupid as hell, but at least it gave you… spunk, it was at least better than whatever you’re trying to be now.’

Starscream plopped himself back on his rear, edging back into his compact box, ‘Just back off Thundercracker. You’re shadow is just going to attract more box-fungus.’

                ‘Come on Starscream, you can’t just…’ he sighed and clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, how about this, after I drop these groceries off at my place, I’ll start asking around, and if I can find a couple of bots willing to put up with you to hunt the Prime, then you’ll get off your ass and at least give leadership another shot.’

                ‘Seriously though, a box requires lots of care… you gotta mend your box on a daily basis, and the grime… you can’t have a grimy box. A clean box is a happy box.’

                ‘Starscream…’

He sighed, curling back into his “home”. ‘You can try, but if you don’t succeed… I told you so.’

Thundercracker nodded. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ The blue seeker picked up his groceries, nodding one last time to the sullen Decepticon before heading out.

Thundercracker hated having to walk from place to place, but with no subspace cube of his own, he was forced to carry larger materials on hand. For someone like him, someone who saw flying as a symbol for health and superiority, the event of walking to his hab-complex came to be degrading at best. Turning a corner, Thundercracker came across a set of streetlights, whereas a cargo bot was locked between two hover-transports, creating what other worlds called a “traffic jam”.

                ‘Crap.’ Thundercracker peered over the mess, realizing that there was no way he’d be able to pass through unless he were to drop his groceries, and there was no way in hell he was going to leave those dental cleaners he was saving up for on the filthy road. He searched for another exit to find that he would have to turn back a kilometer before reaching around to his Hab-Complex. The fastest way to get there would be to cut through via alleyway. ‘Making my way down a dark alleyway,’ he thought aloud, ‘nothing could possibly go wrong…’ The seeker carried his bags into the alleyway, stepping over bags of compost and metal planks leaning along either side of the parallel buildings. ‘Great, just a little more and—’ as if on cue, dark figure hovered over Thundercracker, descending upon him as a large, bulky robot approached him from behind. ‘Oh crap! Something is possibly going wrong!’

\-----

Starscream huffed, he had been living on the streets for only a day but it was enough to push him to insanity. His entire world had been turned upside down, what were once the beings that feared and respected him, were kings compared to his sorry state.

                ‘My goodness, is that who I think it is?’

Starscream looked up to find one of his worst fears come true. There to bear witness to his failures was Knockout. To add salt to the wound, Breakdown, as well as the rest of Knockout’s posse were there with him.

                ‘Starscream! What a pleasant surprise, my you look well!’

The group laughed unanimously, but Starscream remained lax, ‘Knockout, what a surprise… I don’t suppose you could do me a favor…’

                ‘Find you a bigger box?’ The red Decepticon suggested.

                ‘Take Breakdown’s arm, and shove it up your a—’

                ‘Whoahhh how terrifying.’ Knockout made a dramatic gesture as if he had been gravely injured, ‘Oh I’m sorry Starscream. Did I strike a nerve? I didn’t know you were so sensitive…’

                Starscream leaned against his box, arms spread out to either side, ‘Asshole.’

Knockout grinned from ear to ear, ‘My, that’s a new one. If I’m correct, you tend to use some of the more obscure insults of our time. And by that I mean you like to go absolutely medieval on us. What did you used to say…? “Maggots”, “Plebs”, “Proles”’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Ah yes, you called me a bundle of sticks last week didn’t you? Sometimes I get the feeling you’re just making some of these up on the spot.’

Starscream decided not to respond, he wanted to believe words didn’t hurt him, he wanted to believe that he had grown used to being called names; he wanted to believe it ever since Ironhide had insulted him that week ago. But they did. Words had hurt him nearly as much as any punishment he received in the past. Nearly.

                ‘Excuse me.’ Thundercracker had returned, sneaking his way past the crowd and placing himself front of Starscream, bumping into Knockout on the way.

The red Decepticon snarled, ‘Excuse _you!’_

Thundercracker blinked in his direction momentarily before turning back to the crouching hobo, ‘Starscream, I found some.’

He raised his head once again, ‘I thought I told you to back off Thundercracker… wait, found some what?’

                ‘Soldiers… members for your team.’

Starscream frowned. ‘What… wait… for serious?’

Nodding, Thundercracker pointed across from him, prompting Starscream to follow his field of vision. Standing behind Breakdown were a pair of large Decepticons that he recognized immediately.

                ‘Obsidian… Strika!’

The hovering robot nodded, gently parting two bodies in order to face Starscream directly. Strika on the other hand tackled Breakdown aside to place herself in view.

                ‘Starscream,’ realizing that the former Aerospace commander was not going to stand, Obsidian shut off his rotors and sat across from him on the sidewalk. ‘The two of us: Strika and I, are asking to join your team as a means of killing Optimus Prime. I do not have a resume on hand, but if you need I can do whatever you ask to prove myself, Strika too.’

Knockout grimaced as the large femme squeezed in between them, crossing her legs as she sat next to Obsidian and Starscream. Knockout cleared his throat, ‘Excuse me, but we were in the middle of a very important conversation, perhaps the two of you could come back another time.’

Strika glared up at the Decepticon medic, ‘Yeah well… how about you go back to loser-island before I… before I slap you with a baguette!’

Obsidian shook his head solemnly. ‘You’re trying Strika… you’re really trying.’

Knockout snorted, waving a hand for his posse to follow, ‘Come; let’s leave these… things to their box- fort.’

Strika raised her head once again as the group began to walk away, ‘Oh yeah! Well I bet our box-fort is way better than yours!’

Obsidian patted her on the shoulder, ‘It’s alright Strika… you don’t need to impress us.’ The helicopter turned to Starscream, offering a spindly servo. ‘Please commander, I believe it would benefit all of us if you are to take us under your wing. Figuratively speaking of course.’

Starscream stared at him through unimpressed eyes before standing once again. ‘Then what are your motivations? You can surely rally your own soldiers to take on Optimus yourself, why me?’

Strika appeared just as confused as Starscream was, looking to Obsidian for an answer.

                ‘Because you’re the only one to have fought the Prime and lived.’ He glanced briefly at Thundercracker. ‘No offence.’

                ‘None taken.’

                ‘This Autobot is a potential menace for us all and must be eliminated as soon as possible, to do this, Strika and I have agreed that you would be the best Commander to collaborate with in order to achieve this.’

Starscream reared his head skeptically, ‘And you would call me Commander?’

                ‘As you’d wish.’

Satisfied, Starscream knelt next to the two fellow High-Commanders, draping his arms around either’s shoulders, ‘Good! In that case I hereby accept both of you as honorary members of Starscream’s Brigade.’ Chuckling, Starscream turned to where Knockout had disappeared to and made a rude gesture in his general direction. ‘You hear that Knockout? You were dead wrong! I am back in the game and as powerful as ever!’ His laughter escalated as he jumped into a mocking pose, ‘“Oh look at me, I’m Knockout; I have the option of transforming into a jet but decided on being a car ‘because I’m stoopid!” Well you can suck it nerd! Cause this jet will leave vapor trails all over your career once I’m on the throne!’

Strika cleared her throat as she edged towards Thundercracker, ‘So is he—‘

                ‘Completely insane?’ Thundercracker huffed, ‘No… no. Don’t worry, not completely. More like… partially. He’s partially insane.’

Strika exhaled, ‘Oh good, I was worried there for a second, now I have the benefit of being only partially worried.’

                ‘Commander…’ Obsidian spoke up, his hands folded nearly behind his back, ‘…might I ask when it would be convenient for us to begin our hunt?’

Starscream clapped his hands together, spinning around on his heels as he did, ‘Yes! We will leave as soon as possible, but first, grab whatever you need, I’ve got to make a say goodbye to someone first.’ Leaping into the air, metal shifted and connected as Starscream transformed into his sleek jet form. Thruster ablaze, he shot himself into the sky, rendering his former box-home a pile of cinders and melted metal.

Obsidian and Strika eyed one-another before nodding and transforming as well. Obsidian into his twin-rotor’d helicopter mode, and Strika into her six-wheeled tank form.

                ‘Wait, guys—’ but before Thundercracker could say a thing, both Strika and Obsidian were long out of sight. Standing alone, Thundercracker let out an annoyed growl and dropped his groceries on the pavement. ‘…great.’ Transforming, Thundercracker lifted off, heading back around and towards the hospital. ‘So long dental cleaners…’

\-----

_‘I know you are struggling. I know that you feel pain, weakness. But you are far more than that. You have been told the same things over and over again, that you must not be yourself, that you must not struggle, that the you must take the shot every time and with utmost compliance, that ultimately—you must submit and obey. However, if there is but one thing this planet and its kings must hold close—what it must cherish above all else… it is its people. There is not a single possession in this entire universe that is more precious than that of a nation’s people. And for us as people to progress, to live freely and reach true pride in ourselves, we MUST struggle, we MUST be ourselves, and we MUST fight…’_

Soundwave knew he was coming a mile away. Literally, his connection to the cities surveillance allowed him to spot Starscream jetting towards the high-command building from a miles notice. The door was literally kicked open as Starscream came marching in, his former self absorbent attitude practically glowing off of him.

                ‘Soundwave!’ he stopped next to the Regent Commander, sitting in his command chair and facing the opposite direction. Starscream leaned at the side of his chair, watching what was on the screen.

_‘…this requires absolute commitment to a just cause, for we will never tire… never lose courage or faith, we will rise to a new and just Cybertron, and that my Decepticons, is the most beautiful thing I can imagine.’_

                ‘Ah, Megatron’s old speeches during the early days of the war. I’m not certain if I was even alive at this point…’

Soundwave shut off the tapes, replacing it with surveillance footage. ‘What do you require, Starscream?’

The seeker grinned, still leaning against the chair, ‘I am _so_ glad you asked Soundwave, but truth be told I only came here to say bye.’

Soundwave remained focused on the screen. ‘Bye.’

                ‘I’ll have you know that Obsidian and Strika have elected me as their Commander. That’s a member and a half from High Command completely willing to have me as supreme commander. Funny isn’t it?’

                ‘Hilarious.’

Sighing, Starscream squeezed Soundwave on the shoulder one last time before heading back towards the exit. ‘You’re going to bow you know, when this is done, when I am in charge, you are going to be the first Decepticon to bow towards me. You’ll hate it, but that is what will makes the whole thing sweeter. Anyways I hate to blow this popsicle stand you call a home, but I’ve got to run, there are Primes to kill and little time to waste!’

                ‘Starscream.’

He craned his head, smiling contently at the communications officer, ‘Hm?’

One thick tentacle shot forward, nailing Starscream to the wall by his throat, the other slammed into his chest, aiming right above his spark chamber. Soundwave himself rose from his command chair approaching the struggling seeker deftly. He stopped inches from his face, his own a blank as it ever was. ‘I want you to listen. Listen and remember. Remember that no matter how many light years you travel through the endless void, no matter how many frames of precious time you spend trying to muffle your voice, I will find out what you desire, I will find _you_ , and if necessary, if the moment is ripe, I will _kill_ you, because no matter how softly you whisper, I will be _always_ be listening.’ His tentacles let go, and Starscream fell knees first to the floor, coughing and massaging his throat aggressively.

Soundwave turned his back on him, returning to his command chair, ‘Goodbye Starscream.’

\-----

                ‘Okay… now!’ Thundercracker pushed the large coffin-sized cylindrical container once again, shifting it only a few inches up the metallic ramp. Kaon’s shuttle bay was packed with staff both old and new, but with little money to spend, Thundercracker put it upon himself to push his belongings onto the shuttle free of charge. ‘C’mon, just a little more and—’ pushing it the wrong way, the canister began to tip over, falling backwards towards him. ‘No, no, no NO!’ just in time, a large metal hand grabbed the container from Thundercracker, it was Strika.

                ‘Whoa there Thundercracker.’ She stepped forward, correcting the cannisters angle and rendering it stable.

                ‘Strika! Thank Primus you’re here, otherwise… I don’t want to think about it, I’d have to push this thing back up from the beginning.’

She nodded, ‘No problem, but what I want to know is what you’ve got in here that’s so important. Don’t tell me it’s all groceries… it’s not is it?’

He laughed quietly, ‘No, nothing like that… it’s just… ah never mind.’

                ‘Why, what is it?’

He motioned for her to drop it. ‘Nothing, really.’

Unconvinced, Strika twisted her fingers against the containers rim, opening its top and peering inside.

                ‘Wait don’t--!’

                ‘Thundercracker?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Why is there a headless corpse inside this container you’ve been pushing?’

He rubbed the back of his neck with the tips of his fingers. ‘Just because it’s headless doesn’t make it a corpse…’

                ‘This thing is alive?! Gross!’

                ‘It’s not a thing—I mean _he’s_ not a thing. That’s Skywarp, he’s one of the seekers, like me.’

Strika squinted before sealing the lid back onto the canister, ‘I don’t know, I’ve met many seekers in my lifetime Thundercracker, but none of them have really stood out to me.’

                ‘He was the one that could teleport.’

                ‘Oh!’ Strika snapped her fingers upon remembering, ‘I know that one!’

Thundercracker eyed the canister in question.

                ‘Oh right, the thing—here, let me carry it.’ Grabbing on to the container with both hands, Strika heaved it upwards, holding and balancing it above her head. The two made their way into the compact shuttle where Strika gently lowered the container to the ground. Thundercracker thanked her once more before walking with her out of the ship and back to the docks.

                ‘Is Obsidian around?’

                ‘Should be, I think he stopped by to grab Starscream first, but he should be here right about….’

As if on cue, Starscream and Obsidian dropped down from the sky, transforming into their robot modes and landing gracefully before the shuttle.

                ‘Now.’

                ‘This doesn’t look like the Nemesis.’ Starscream spun his head around to face Obsidian, ‘Did the Nemesis shrink in the wash or—what am I looking at right now?’

                ‘The Nemesis was taken by Slipstream.’ Obsidian answered, ‘I can only imagine that as the new Aerospace Commander she would be given the rights to the Decepticons Flagship.’

Starscream looked unimpressed, as if he were thinking that he should have expected this. ‘Well that’s lame. So what are we flying instead, the Harbinger, the Triton? Ooh! What about the Cleaver? I always wanted to pilot a ship named after a… you know—a Cleaver.’

                ‘Actually…’ Obsidian extended a finger towards a sign next to the purple and grey shuttle, reading: **ASTROTRAIN’S BUS SERVICE** (no combiners).

                ‘Damn it.’

                ‘What are you waiting for?’ the shuttle boomed, ‘I don’t have all day!’

                ‘Right… right.’ Starscream waved a hand for Obsidian and Strika to follow, but stopped in front of Thundercracker, ‘So you’re coming after all?’

He shrugged, ‘Well, to be honest, after being hooked on to a massive tele-screen and forced to relive an already scarring moment of my life, it turns out that I just might need some closure after all. That, and it is incredibly boring living in an apartment complex where everything smells like hot metal and hardened grease.’

Starscream smirked. ‘Well it is good to have you aboard Thundernuts.’

                ‘It’s Thundercracker, Starscream.’

The seeker laughed. ‘Who cares?’

Entering Astrotrain, Obsidian had made a bee-line for a seat and slouched himself against the wall as Strika counted their luggage with her digits. Thundercracker pressed a servo against Skywarp’s canister before moving next to Starscream in the cockpit.

                ‘What is the destination?’ Astrotrain inquired.

                The blue seeker massaged his chin in thought. ‘As much as I hate to even consider it, should we start with where we saw them last? By that old asteroid field near in that Autobot trade route I mean.’

Starscream shook his head, ‘No… I have a plan that does not require going back there, and besides, they’re not stupid, those Autobots have probably fled to the other end of the galaxy by now.’

\----

Once again, Ironhide had stepped out of the Ark, and once again he looked from left to right. Miles of asteroid and space to the left, miles of asteroid and space to the right. They had been in the same area for the past week, only ever moving an asteroid or two from borrowed Energon. Ironhide sighed, and went back to doing push ups for the next half hour.


	13. Interruptions

Optimus’s was on his side; curled into a ball as he laid on his recharge slab. Even with his optics dimmed, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He lightly tightened his grip against the edge of the silver slab as a voice whispered in his audio receptor.

                ‘I am alive Optimus. You think I’m dead. Everyone thinks I’m dead. But you have no idea. I am well alive— and I am coming for _you._ ’

He twisted himself over so that he was on his back, facing the empty, golden ceiling. He was alone. Sitting up, Optimus took the moment to stretch his metal joints before swiveling his body and slipping off of his slab onto his feet. Massaging the indent underneath his chin, Optimus lumbered his way into the hall, and out towards the observation deck. There he found Ironhide, doing a series of push ups on one arm as he folded his other behind his back. The black and red Autobot tilted his head slightly as the sounds of the larger Autobots footsteps reverberated against the metal floor.

                ‘You’re up early.’

                ‘I didn’t sleep.’ Optimus replied, leaning against the Ark.

Ironhide was lightly groaned from his exercise. ‘Again? You feeling alright?’

He sighed, feeling somewhat glad that Ironhide had been facing the other way. ‘I suppose “alright” would be the proper term to use.’

Ironhide swapped arms as he continued to press against the floor. ‘Then I’d say that’s “alright.”’

Optimus unfolded his arms, ‘Say, is Blackarachnia still—‘

                ‘Sleeping like the lazy sack of junk she is?’ He spat. ‘Yeah, and she’ll probably sleep in until 4:00 pm for the eighth day straight too.’

Optimus’s optics narrowed. ‘Right. You think I should start waking her up earlier or whatever?’

                ‘Well you don’t have to sound like a concerned parent or anything, but yeah, for once in her life someone really ought to teach her some proper manners. I doubt Cons like her know the first thing about ‘em seeing where they come from.’

Optimus grinned. ‘I never thought I’d hear talk about manners from the guy who used to threaten to unleash his fiery wrath whenever a car cut him off in traffic back on Earth.’

Ironhide flipped himself over to face the Prime. ‘Those humans were idiots! They didn’t know how to drive and—and they could have been possessed by Decepticons!’

Optimus chuckled. ‘Yeah, Decepticons trying to thwart your calm driving experience.’

The weapons specialist turned his head away, ‘Well… you never know... Shut up.’

                ‘Whatever you say.’ Optimus turned, returning to the Ark. ‘Most of the humans are dead now anyway, so you shouldn’t have to worry about _that_ anymore.’

\-----

Optimus found Blackarachnia in what was once the advanced Kimia-produced cell block and now a makeshift room for the Ex-Decepticon. She was laying on her back in the center cell, her limbs spread out aimlessly and her helmet discarded to the side. Her mouth was hung wide-open as she snored, revealing a set of jagged teeth that aligned her jaw. She was covered by a surplus of empty fuel cans, Energon-goody packets and melted grease from an unidentifiable packet that Optimus had hoped stayed unidentifiable.

                ‘Gross…’ He cupped his servos around his mouth and took in a deep breath. ‘BLACKARACHNIA!’

The spider awoke with a jolt, kicking at the ground and crawling up against the back wall of her cell. Her four optics darting in different directions. ‘WHAT?! What—.’ She took note of the Prime standing in the doorway, his hands folded neatly behind his back. ‘Oh it’s you.’ She scowled, approaching Optimus and brandishing an accusing finger. ‘What’s the big idea pal? Are you looking for a beating or is it just that I cannot get some rest around here without some old guy shouting his trap off like Ruckus on—,’ She stopped, and started eyeing around the room anxiously. ‘Wait, we’re not under attack are we?’

                ‘We’re not under attack. But we could have been.’

Blackarachnia stared at the Prime momentarily before rolling her optics and turning to face the other way. ‘Oh hell. A drill? Seriously?’

                ‘This isn’t a drill, but if it was you would have failed. From now on you are waking up at this hour so that you can be well prepared ahead of time for anything that might pose a threat to us.’

                ‘But this is…’ she threw her arms behind her head, spinning around on the balls of her feet. ‘Stupid! Lemme guess, Is this because I used to be a Decepticon or—?’

Optimus furrowed his brow. ‘Ironhide and I have been getting up this early forever now. If you don’t like it I can easily just boot you off the ship.’

She upraised her hands as if by instinct. ‘No, fine, I’m up. It was just that I didn’t think it was fair that because a couple of old guys can get up at…’ She paused to check her internal clock. ‘…At 6:00 AM that I should as well. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything to do here.’ She tapped at the side of her head. ‘This mind needs stimulus. Sitting on my aft with no electricity on a barren asteroid in the middle of nowhere can be a little… agitating, at least Ironhide gets to play target practice.’

                ‘Yeah well, the early bird gets the worm and all that… wait.’ He stammered. ‘Did you just call me a… I’m not—we’re not old!’

                ‘What are you talking about? Of course you’re old, you’re sure as hell older than I am.’

                ‘But how am I—no!’

                ‘Uh, yeah?’

Optimus wasn’t sure if he was to feel offended or saddened by the comment. ‘But how do you determine if someone else is old? Is it the voice? Because I’ve always had that.’

Blackarachnia massaged her top-right optic in annoyance. ‘Alright, fine, how old _are_ you?’

                ‘Three-thousand, two-hundred and ten. You?’

                ‘Two-thousand, five-hundred.’

Optimus clapped his hands together. ‘See? Not so far apart now, are we? Chances are only a few civilizations rose and crumbled between the times of our births.’

She shrugged, ‘I guess. But it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re old-ish.’

Optimus hesitated before indulging in the conversation a little. ‘Yeah? Tell it to Ironhide, he’s nearing four-thousand.’

Blackarachnia snorted as she tried to hold in a laugh. ‘You’re kidding me… And the two of you went to boot camp together?’

The Prime grinned. ‘He wasn’t the best student in the Academy. Granted neither was I but… they had to hold him back some.’

The two shared a laugh that lasted for what felt like two minutes.

                ‘But seriously.’ Optimus said soberly in a whiplash change of tone. ‘If you get bored, you can always just stop to clean up this mess. I won’t tolerate the two of you turning my ship into a dump.’ Content with how he finished, Optimus promptly turned around and made his way out of the room, the door sealing behind him automatically.

Blackarachnia sighed, picking up her helmet and placing it firmly back over her head. ‘Whatever you say old man…’

\-----

Hours later, Optimus had set up a platform atop of the Ark’s observational deck which, upon any actual observation, was really just the roof. Blackarachnia arrived first, jogging over to the podium and cursing herself for not having an alt-mode with wheels. Ironhide arrived next. Driving up in his large truck mode before transforming into his bulky robot form.

Blackarachnia smirked. ‘Wow you’re slow. Like, put aside the fact that I beat you here by walking, I felt tired just watching you drive up.’

Ironhide pumped his cannons antagonistically. ‘Yeah? Well _you_ try dashing around carelessly carrying a pair of kick-ass cannons with you.’

                ‘Then why don’t you just drop the cannons?’

Ironhide recoiled, holding his cannons away from Blackarachnia as if suspecting her of wanting them for herself. ‘ _Never…’_

Her voice raised a note as her eyes wandered faux-innocently. ‘Well, on that note I think the real issue might be your age.’

Ironhide dropped his servos to either side of him and let them dangle against his sides. ‘What are you trying to say? That I’m old?’

Blackarachnia craned her head to face Optimus and grinned.

Refusing to support the argument, Optimus carried on with what he had already planned. ‘ANYWAY. Thank you both for coming. I see that my message of invitation to this gathering has reached the two of you after all.’

                ‘Message?’ Blackarachnia glanced unimpressed at the Prime. ‘You just ran down the halls screaming: “GROUP MEETING OUTSIDE. COME NOW OR DIE!” repeatedly. It was more of an open threat than an invitation to be honest.’

Ironhide nodded firmly. “Yeah, with all due respect Prime, I don’t see why you’d call it a group meeting when we’re just two Autobots and a Decepticon.’

                ‘Ex-Decepticon.’ Blackarachnia corrected.

                ‘Whatever.’

Optimus cleared his throat once again, only this time it there was a noticeably harsher tone to it. ‘‘You can’t blame me for trying to keep things professional. Now down to business. I’m no theoretician, but theoretically we should be able to jump another asteroid by the end of the week given the amount of Energon we borrowed from passing trade ships.’

                ‘Stole.’

He shook his head. ‘No Blackarachnia, _borrowed,_ we _borrowed_ the Energon. They just don’t know.’

She shot him a skeptical look. ‘How are we borrowing it? It’s Energon, we’re not giving it back. If we’re robbing people under their noses we might as well be straightforward with it amongst ourselves.’

Ironhide snorted. ‘You see what I’m talking about Optimus? She doesn’t even know the difference between stealing, borrowing, and _borrowing.’_

Optimus shook his head a second time. ‘That is so sad.’

Blackarachnia huffed, sitting cross legged against the Ark’s metal plating and muttering to herself. ‘Fine by me… freaking losers.’

Optimus began to speak, but stopped upon realizing he had forgotten what he was going to say. ‘Wait… I lost track of where I was… Oh yeah! You remember when I said we can probably jump another asteroid with our current Energon by the end of the week? Well I lied, we can only make the jump if we use our ration supply of it as well.’

He was responded with blank stares from both Ironhide and Blackarachnia.

                ‘Meaning we’ll have to go without eating for the rest of the week.’

Blackarachnia jumped back to her feet as Ironhide let out a loud groan.

                ‘You can’t be serious!’ Blackarachnia extended a begging servo to the Prime. ‘Literally. There is nothing to do on this asteroid. I’ve only been able to pass the time by eating, sleeping and loading large wads of sticky tack into Ironhide’s gun collection when he isn’t looking!’

Ironhide blinked. ‘What?’

                ‘You’ve already taken away my love for killing and sleeping—eating is all I have left!’

Optimus placed his hands on his hips. ‘Yeah… I’d prefer it if you guys stop interrupting me… But don’t get me wrong, I understand why you’re so upset.’ He raised a dramatic servo. ‘But no matter, for we are better than that.’

Ironhide’s servos widened. ‘Oh Primus, here we go again.’

                ‘What we love damages us. But, we can move past that. We can fight hunger, and tiredness, and boredom. For in order for us to achieve progress, we must always be willing to sacrifice. To give away something from ourselves in order to gain something in return…’

                ‘FRAG THAT!’ Blackarachnia belted, bringing either of her index fingers to the sides of her helm and massaging either side aggressively. ‘Screw self-sacrifice and—and _heroism_ this is freaking torture! It’s like the safest place in the galaxy for me also happens to be a living hell!’

                ‘Hell?!’ Ironhide fumed. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed those empty goody packets around your prison!’

                ‘It’s a _room_ not a prison. And of course _you’re_ one to talk!’

Ironhide squinted his dark optics. ‘What are you trying to say?’

The corners of Blackarachnia’s mouth rose. ‘I’m saying that not only are you old, but you’re fat too. Tubby.’

                ‘Why you little—‘

                ‘RAAAAAARRRGGGHHH!’ Optimus dashed at both of them, clothes-lining both of their necks with two outstretched arms and wrestling them both to the ground in a pair of headlocks. ‘The two of you just don’t know how to keep yourselves from interrupting your commander do you?’

Ironhide slapped the ground as Optimus tightened his grip. _‘Uncle! Uncle!’_

                ‘You know this— _koff, koff._ This is a very “bad guy” thing to do to your subordinates.’ Blackarachnia wheezed.

                ‘Yeah, well you should have… have… what the hell is that?’

A single, circle of white, light hovered above the trio. It seemed to grow, not that it was literally growing in intensity (though it happened to do that at to a lesser extent as well), but it grew in the sense that it was coming closer. Optimus let go of Ironhide and Blackarachnia, pulling himself back on to his feet. The light was coming from a ship, one that was at least the same general size of the Ark from Prime’s examination. Two more lights activated, illuminating the Ark’s golden plating as the ship hovered over them. The space between the rings of light located on its belly parted, revealing a large, orange-tinted tractor beam.

                ‘Ah… crap. Guys?’ Optimus turned to Ironhide and Blackarachnia as his feet left the ground. ‘I think we’re being abducted.’

 


	14. Lights On

                Optimus was the first to enter the ship via tractor beam. He felt disjointed and confused, as a common side effect of getting beamed into a ship. His body materialized into a wide open, hexagonal room. It was painted a clear white with a bluish tint reflecting off each canvas from the six cobalt lamps that aligned the room. There were several coloured picture frames across the walls, placed with no apparent thought for symmetry or pattern. The exit to the room was located at the top of a long double-sided return staircase that led to a small balcony completed with railing and all. Ironhide and Blackarachnia materialized at the same time after him, landing violently on their knees. Optimus gave them three seconds each to collect their bearings and raised a pair of digits, signaling them for battle.

                ‘On your feet Autobots.’

                ‘What are we dealing with?’ Ironhide said professionally as he activated his cannons. ‘Autobots? Decepticons? Aliens …Other?’

                ‘That’s irrelevant, for now, just prepare for combat.’ Optimus signaled to Ironhide. ‘Take center and watch over me.’ Unfolding his axe, he checked over Blackarachnia who stood in a fighting position. ‘Blackarachnia, do you have any weapons in robot mode?’

She nodded, flexing her spine. A set of legs unfurled from the small of her back, bending forward and arranging themselves like the front-line of a knight’s squadron as multiple long-swords aiming to clash with metal, aligned themselves over her head. ‘No worries.’ She smirked. ‘I am always ready for a good slaught—I mean ah… brawl.’

Optimus nodded. ‘Alright, take the right flank. I’ll take them upfront.’

The sound of heavy, metal footsteps echoed from the doorway on the balcony.

                ‘You ready Optimus?’ Ironhide prompted from behind.

                ‘Hold on…’ Optimus clicked his head to the side and a faceplate enclosed around his mouth, a sudden rush of adrenaline flowed through him. ‘ _Now_ I’m ready.’

As the footsteps grew closer, Optimus began to recognize the pictures plastered across the walls. They all appeared to depict the same thing. It was a red and yellow robot, smiling and making all sorts of different poses.

                ‘… Ironhide? Look at those pictures.’

Ironhide did just that, gazing up upon the framed visages. ‘Wait… that’s not…’

Optimus’s optics dilated. ‘It is… I know who we’re dealing with.’

The door was kicked open as a streamlined, red and yellow robot came busting out. He had his arms around two similarly coloured femmes who contently strolled next to him coolly. A pair of black, rimless sunglasses covering his optics. For whatever reason, rock music was playing. ‘YEAHYEAHYEAHYEAH!’

The red and yellow robot waved enthusiastically as either femme dodged out of the way. ‘Well, well, who would have thought we’d ever bump into THE Optimus Prime?’

Optimus raised an urgent servo to the sleek Autobot. ‘Rodimus please, no need for any theatrics you don’t—.’

Rodimus raised a servo and swiped off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of cyan optics. ‘Just hold on!’ He began climbing the railing, balancing on the slim platform and preparing to jump. ‘I’ll be down in a sec!’

Optimus extended a worried servo towards the robot. ‘Wait Rodimus! There’s no need, we’ll be up there in a—‘

                ‘Too late!’ The Autobot kicked back, launching him forward as he did a swan dive over the side of the railing. He winked momentarily at Optimus before somersaulting his way to the ground.

                ‘Wow.’ Blackarachnia marveled. ‘He’s so…’

With a loud clang, Rodimus’s body slammed face-down against the floor. Small cracks erupted from beneath him in response to the robots weighted body pressing down.

                ‘Stupid.’

Rodimus shivered as he peeled himself painfully from the floor. ‘Oww….’

The two identical red and orange femmes darted over to his side, helping him to his feet with a certain adrenaline.

                ‘I literally _just_ said that he shouldn’t have tried anything flashy.’ The one on his left stressed.

                ‘I didn’t say I disagreed with you I just… I didn’t think he’d actually jump a story just for the sake of showing off.’ the other said exhaustedly.

Rodimus waved them away. ‘Really… Firestar, Flareup, I’m fine.’

                ‘Oh.’ Firestar looked to Flareup and nodded. ‘Okay.’

The two let go, carelessly dropping Rodimus’s upper body to the floor. His head clanged back against the cold, metal floor. ‘Oww!’

Long after the twins darted away and Rodimus had remained moaning in pain for what felt like another five minutes, the crimson Autobot finally put it upon himself to stand up, brush off the rubble from his frame, and address his guests like an average person. ‘…Hey Optimus, Ironhide, long time no see.’

Optimus motioned to Blackarachnia to lower her guard as he lowered his faceplate. ‘Hey Rodimus, twenty years now right? You look so different that I barely recognized you from your— OH MY GOD YOUR LEG!’

                ‘Huh?’ Rodimus glanced at his left leg.

                ‘THE OTHER ONE!’

Rodimus glanced at his right leg. It was bent backwards, twisted and gnarled whereas chunks of exoskeleton pierced through his naturally armored plating. ‘Oh. Yeah, the fall must’ve hurt me more than I thought. No worries though, I can still—.’

                ‘There is literally Energon gushing out of your ankle!’

                ‘Yeahyeahyeah, but it’s really not that bad, just watch, I’ll take a step and— AGGGHHH, @#$%.’

With a loud crash, a white and red Cybertronian car and a blue and red striped Cybertronian van came accelerating off the side of the balcony, crashing through the railing and transforming into their robot forms midair. The white and red car was a thin and angular robot with sharply edged shoulders and a pair of thickly built thighs. The van was about the same build as Optimus and had no real distinctive features other than the multitude of concealed weaponry that flipped out from his shoulders and wrists.

                ‘Rodimus!’ the white robot brandished a pair of long swords, aiming them directly at Optimus, he glanced at the captain’s leg. ‘You’re wounded! Were these the ones that did this to you? I _thought_ I sensed a ghastly presence around here…’

The blue robot cracked his knuckles unenthusiastically. ‘Relax, this won’t take long.’

Rodimus outstretched an urgent servo towards the two robots. ‘Drift, Skids, wait!’

It was Ironhide who stepped forward, bringing his hand to his chest. ‘Drift! It’s me, Ironhide, I stopped by and gave you guys an assist three months ago, remember?’

Drift lowered his blades and motioned for Skids to do the same.

                ‘Ironhide? Wait… just what is going on around here?’

\-----

                After everyone had been settled, Optimus and the others were escorted to the main bridge, passing through the pink coloured hallways and avoiding the stares of Atomizer and Riptide, Optimus could tell Rodimus’s crew wasn’t use to there being more than one Prime around. They entered the main bridge room to find Rodimus sitting in his command chair, his leg in a cast of sorts as a purple and yellow femme wearing a hard-light visor worked on it. The bridge was rightfully large and had a tanned colour scheme that popped against the large black windows which gave the crew an open look into space. Standing around the bridge was a rainbow of different coloured robots including the twins: Firestar and Flareup, Skids (minus the guns), Drift (minus the swords), and a blue and yellow robot with flame-painted decals that caught Optimus’s optic instantly.

                ‘Nightbeat!’ I didn’t know _you_ were under Rodimus’s command, what brings you here?’

He shrugged. ‘What can I say, I’m a detective, and since Rodimus happens be a magnet for mysteries, I’ve been coming by every so often to see what sort of monster of the week he has on his hands this time.’

                ‘Please.’ Rodimus motioned towards the empty chairs behind them. ‘Take a seat.’

                ‘I’ll stand.’ Optimus said.

                ‘Okay.’ Blackarachnia brought her index fingers to either side of her head as she lowered herself into the chair. ‘Now as much as I enjoy not having any friends, would someone _please_ tell me who the hell you people are?’

Optimus snapped his fingers, directing her attention to Rodimus. ‘Absolutely, this is Rodimus _Prime_ , he was a member of my squadron back on Earth before the Surge. After I disbanded the team, High Command did a double take to see that Hot Rod had an affinity to the thirteen, he’s since gained the title of Prime and—.’

                ‘Changed my name to Rodimus in tribute to my old unit commander.’ The flame coloured finished. ‘And how could I not? Now that we have the same rank, I needed _something_ to remind me of my old commanding officer.’

Optimus ducked his head from the other Prime, muttering to himself quietly. ‘Really Rodimus, you shouldn’t…’

Blackarachnia leaned towards Optimus, whispering into his audio receptor. ‘ _I didn’t know you had fans.’_

                ‘But here! Let me introduce you to Team Rodimus!’ Rodimus extended a finger to each of the surrounding robots. ‘From left to right: Drift, Nightbeat, Skids, Nautica, Firestar and Flareup. Team Rodimus used to have a few other guys, but—heh—they’re not here anymore.’

                ‘What, they dead?’ Ironhide asked, standing idly next to Drift.

                ‘No… NO! Nobody ever dies here, they just left not long ago. But enough of that, what brings you three here?

Optimus leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m glad you asked, you see, our Ark is all out of Energon. We’ve been stranded here for the past week…’

As Optimus explained, Drift leaned towards Ironhide quizzically, eyeing the unenthused Blackarachnia carefully. ‘Hey, that femme that’s with you…’

                ‘Blackarachnia?’

                ‘Yeah. I could sense something… dark about her. What is her story?’

Ironhide made a gravelly huff. ‘You want to know? You see, she’s really… a Decepticon.’

                ‘Oh?’

                ‘Well—a neutral Decepticon ever since Starscream put her on his death-list. We’ve been harboring her for the past week.’

                ‘Well that sounds—!’

                ‘Disgusting I know. Honestly, Decepticons do _not_ deserve amnesty, if they did we would have lost the war long ago. You know what I’m saying, right Drift?’

                ‘Oh.’ He reared his head from Ironhide in order to eavesdrop on the conversation between Rodimus and Optimus. ‘Yeah… you’re right.’

Nautica tapped her wrench against Rodimus’s wounded leg. ‘There. I mean, I’m an engineer, not a medic, but that should do it.’

Rodimus pulled himself out of his chair and tested his stance by tapping his foot lightly against the floor. ‘Yeah, not bad, not quite Ratchet-level of good, but not bad. Thanks Nautica.’ He turned his attention back to Optimus as the purple engineer wandered off. ‘If it’s Energon you need, Firestar has detected a strong Energon reading from an unidentifiable source not far from here. If you want, we can tow the Ark and drop you guys off there in order for you to refuel and restock.’

                ‘Perfect!’ Optimus stood to shake the other Prime’s hand. ‘If it will get us Energon, then that’s what we’ll do.’

There was a brief silence across the bridge as the two captains stood.

                ‘So um… Rodimus, what have you been up to as of late?’

Rodimus blinked. ‘Oh! Yeah, of course, Prowl assigned me to this ship, the _Lost Light_ we’re calling it and we’re sort of… lost. We cut ourselves from High Command and—well we’ve sort of just been chasing event to event, trying to find a place for us to do some good. We fought some cons, picked up Drift, Skids, Getaway and Nightbeat along the way.’ He looked aside. ‘And thus ruining my harem…’

                ‘What?’

                ‘I mean—we countered some Decepticon resistance as well, but for the most part we’ve been spending our time drifting and breaking rules that only Prowl and Magnus care about.’

                ‘That’s fantastic! We can discuss this on the way to the site, does your pilot know where to set course?’

                ‘Well, actually.’ Rodimus massaged the back of his head feebly. ‘You know how with pirates? Like, captains of ships, how they’re always taking the helm? Well uh… that’s kind of how it is with us. I mean, it doesn’t _have_ to be but I kind of—yeah, I kind of pilot the ship _and_ captain it so… You don’t _have_ to stay, if you’d rather chat with the others, then by all means…’

                ‘That’s alright.’ Optimus pulled a chair next to Rodimus’s captain’s seat. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll listen.’

\-----

A half hour later, Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia, Rodimus and Nightbeat stood in the main hanger: watching as the Energy source grew closer.

                ‘Well, that’s unnatural.’ Rodimus remarked, pointing at the large object as it came into view. It was a massive grey cylinder, at least twice the size of the Ark and perfectly symmetrical. It was perpetually still against the void and could have easily been missed due to the lack of any vivid colours or décor.

                ‘Spooky.’ Rodimus noted. ‘I guess that’s our Energy source.’

                ‘Fascinating. And I thought _I_ was the detective here.’ Nightbeat quipped.

Optimus inspected Nightbeat. He appeared perplexed by the large object. ‘Hey, a floating object in space, bigger than a spaceship, a perfect cylinder—I’d say that’s a mystery in itself eh Nightbeat? You thinking about checking it out with us?’

Nightbeat took his time to examine the object, his optics darting from side to side. ‘No.’ he answered, clasping his hands together. ‘This “object” you speak of is without a doubt an abandoned science facility left during the war’s more visceral moments. The shape is the same model as the third generation Kimian backups that were wiped out during the second act of the Surge, and if you look closely, there are several small darkened areas, those are entrances. Me, I’ve already encountered several of these broken facilities there over, even if they were utterly and mysteriously destroyed afterwards… If you find anything of note, be sure to tell me, otherwise…’ He turned himself around to leave the hangar. ‘I’m afraid I’ve already got my hands full.’

The detective’s tailcoats flapped as he left the others, taking a moment to wish them luck before disappearing into the ship.

                ‘That guy’s weird, yo.’ Blackarachnia mumbled to no one in particular.

The Lost Light hovered over the facility, its tractor beam relieving the Ark as Nautica and Skids worked on manually connecting its built-in tow-cables to the cylinder.  Rodimus pulled a lever and the hangar doors shifted, guzzled and groaned before folding upwards and creaking open above the closest entrance to the backup-facility. The Autobot’s bodies lurched before sticking back into place thanks to the magna-clamps.

                ‘Optimus.’ Rodimus was looking troubled. ‘You know… I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you stay here with us? You can take full command and everything, it could be like old times!’

                ‘I’m not so sure.’ Blackarachnia said. ‘I mean, he _did_ strangle us for being “incompetent fools” right before you beamed us up.’

                ‘That was taken out of context…’ Optimus said flippantly.

Rodimus blinked in surprise. ‘What troubles me is that you’re not denying it.’

Ironhide placed a heavy hand on Optimus’s shoulder. ‘…Maybe it would be best to stay away from the facility, stick with Rodimus for a while before finding a legitimate source of Energon to recharge the Ark.’

                ‘What’s wrong? Is THE Ironhide afraid of some glorified science fair?’ Blackarachnia jabbed Ironhide lightly in the gut before making a running leap out the side of the hangar and landing briskly inside the massive cylinder. Optimus grinned at Rodimus before activating his headlights and leaping out of the ship after her.

Landing rigidly on his pedes. Optimus twisted around to see Ironhide land behind him and wave a goodbye to the departing Lost Light as the panels built into the hangar-bay’s door closed over Rodimus’s face.

                ‘Alright Autobots, I’d say let’s spread out and search for the Energon on our own, but seeing how that went last time I say we stick together and hope for the best.’

                ‘Yeah…’ Ironhide activated his headlights, illuminating the way before him. ‘I remember that night well…’

The three robots walked at an average-slow pace. Checking through each of the darkened rooms to find nothing but three walls and a ceiling in each. Particles of dust came into view as Optimus shone his lights into the rooms.

                ‘Empty.’

                ‘You think it was a raid?’ Ironhide asked.

                ‘Perhaps.’ Optimus looked through the following rooms passively, as if he were bidding his time. ‘Either that or the scientists here packed up long ago.’

Ironhide grunted, peering into the rooms opposite to him.

                ‘So that Nightbeat, he’s a bit of a weirdo eh?’ Blackarachnia said, hankering to make a conversation out of it.

                ‘Takes one to know one.’ Ironhide groused.

Optimus continued his search, deciding to entertain Blackarachnia while they worked. ‘I knew Nightbeat from my times as a Prime, as a _proper_ Prime, back on Earth. High Command would order me on multiple off-world assignments, some of which had me partnered with Nightbeat and Siren. Actually… I never really got to know him past that now that I think about it.’

                ‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia yawned. ‘Then what about Rodimus? I wouldn’t have thought you to be the role-model type. Didn’t you once say you never properly led before in your life?’

Optimus remained surveying the corridor as he spoke. ‘During the Surge, as Earth fell. Ironhide, Prowl and a few others had already managed to escape the planet with the humans. But that left a few dozen others—including myself— behind. Unfortunately, we were surrounded by Decepticons. Megatron was one of them. Out of the twenty-five of us that were hunted down for all those months, I only managed to save Rodimus and myself, I literally had to carry him like a child through a firing range to the shuttle. I guess he’s seen me as his hero ever since, not that it makes much sense considering it was my own poor leadership that led to earth’s fall.’

Blackarachnia’s faceplate wrinkled. ‘Well—huh, that uh… sucks.’

Ironhide jabbed his elbow at Blackarachnia’s rib, getting her back from before. ‘That was smooth.’

The Ex-Decepticon blew an irritable wind from her lower lip. ‘Look. I wasn’t trying to offend anybody or prompt any “tragic flashbacks”, I was just asking questions, and at the moment, that’s all I have.’

Ironhide’s tone grew harsh. ‘Well you should drop it, best only speak when spoken too.’

Deciding he had enough, Optimus slowed his pace and turned around. Walking backwards as a ways to face his team-mates. His brow was angled, though it made him come off as more concerned than upset. ‘Listen, both of you. What happened, happened and I can’t change that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all up for brooding about the past. Brooding and being mopey—Genuinely, I’ve been doing that for _so_ long now. But you see, scrap happens in war. It has gone on long before I was born, and you could say I’ve known it my whole life. So when I bring up my dark experiences from the war—as we all have shared—I can’t put it any simpler than this: “That’s just life”. For now, let’s just try and just act like normal people, put aside the troubles of the past and focus on a more positive present.’ He desisted as to direct himself around a corner before continuing. ‘It’ll be best if we keep it from hindering our focus on the mission.’ He rotated himself around once again to face the other way.

Ironhide and Blackarachnia glanced at each other, and for the first time, both bots felt as though they were on the same level.

                ‘Hold on…’ Ironhide raised a hand to signal his speaking. ‘What _is_ our mission exactly? Not this search for Energon, I mean the _real_ mission. What happens once the Ark is back up and running, what then?’

                ‘Then?’ Optimus didn’t bother to make eye-contact. ‘Then we work on fixing the war. I was thinking of stopping by planet to planet and help those in need. Clean up the messes the war has wrought. You know, community work on hard mode.’

Ironhide and Blackarachnia shared another glance before the latter spoke. ‘With all due respect Optimus, I’ve spent my entire life around a faction called the “Decepticons”, I _know_ when I’m being deceived.’

                ‘I’ve got to agree with the deceiver, Prime.’ Ironhide said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘It’s not hard to know that you haven’t been telling us everything.’

Optimus stopped. For the moments it took for him to think of his response, Blackarachnia and Ironhide could have sworn they wouldn’t get an answer. ‘The mission is to do good, period. But don’t think I am without an intended flight path. There’s someone… someone I am looking for. My mission is to find this person. Before you ask, no, I’m not going to tell you who it is, and I don’t have to. Be it by choice or not, you two are sticking this path with me, if you don’t like it, then don’t worry, because once we find him, you’ll never hear from me ever again.’

There was silence.

                ‘What?!’

Optimus swiveled in place to face both robots. ‘I said you’ll never _have_ to hear from me again once I—.’ The Prime stopped, his optics widening. ‘Ironhide. We didn’t check the doors down that hallway behind you, did we?’

Ironhide craned his head to follow Prime’s line of sight. ‘No I… oh.’

The three robots eyed corridor in front of them. It went on for approximately thirty meters but had no rooms along its adjacent walls. Only one. At the very end of the hallway was a single door, one that was shut. What made it stand out from the rest were the cracks of light that escaped through the door’s outline.

The lights were on.


	15. Pirates

Optimus placed his palms against the door and pressed his audio receptor against its cold steel.

                ‘Hear anything?’ Ironhide asked.

He pulled back, his servos still connected to the door. ‘Nothing, if there’s anything in there we’ll have to check it with our own eyes.’ He directed his gaze to Blackarachnia. ‘Alright BA, look inside and tell me what you see.’

Blackarachnia pressed her fingers together anxiously. ‘Okay, so I have to do this why?’

Ironhide was unfazed. ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you, that’s why.’

Optimus shrugged. ‘Just do it Blackarachnia.’

She sighed, edging towards the lightened door and wrapping her fingers around the handle. ‘Here goes nothing I guess…’ Blackarachnia pulled on the handle, opening the door a crack before peering inside.

She shut the door.

Optimus leaned towards her intrusively. ‘What did you see?’

Blackarachnia remained staring forward, her brow lowered. She opened the door and peered into it again before shutting it just as quickly. She faced Optimus frowning.

Ironhide folded his arms and tapped on his elbow impatiently. ‘Well, you heard the man, what did you see?’

Blackarachnia’s mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. ‘I’m sorry I—I don’t know how to explain it, when I opened the door and looked in I… hold on.’ She repeated the action, opening the door, peering in, and closing it again. ‘Okay… that’s strange.’

                ‘For Primus sake, just tell us what you saw!’

                ‘I know Ironhide! I know it’s just… I can’t remember.’

Optimus wore a concerned look, bringing his thumb underneath his chin in thought. ‘You checked the room three times and you already forgot what’s inside?’

Blackarachnia tried to articulate the scene with her hands, but realizing she couldn’t manage that, she dropped her servos to either side of her waste and sighed. ‘Look, whenever I look away from the room, I forget what I saw immediately, I don’t know how else to explain it.’

                ‘So it’s like a _Silence_.’

Both Autobots stared blankly at the Prime.

                ‘A Silence, you look at them once and when you look away you-- sorry… it’s just—something from a show I used to watch…’

Ironhide grunted angrily and shoved Blackarachnia to the side. ‘Here, allow me.’ The beefy Autobot swung open the door and stared into the brightly lit room.

He shut the door.

                ‘Okay.’ He swung his head to face Blackarachnia. ‘I think I get what you mean now… What about you Optimus?’

                ‘What do you mean?’

                ‘What do you mean, what do I mean? Did you see anything when I opened the door?’

Before Optimus could answer, the corridor quaked. A loud rumbling echoed through the facility followed by the soft hum of a quantum engine. The loud vibrations shook the corridor long after the three robots had bolted ahead.

                ‘Autobots, roll out!’ Optimus ordered, transforming into his truck form next to Ironhide.

                ‘Wait!’ Blackarachnia jumped onto the roof of Ironhide cab causing him to skid violently.

                ‘Blackarachnia! The hell!’

                ‘I don’t transform remember! I turn into a giant robot spider and pass out when I change back. I can’t “roll out” like the rest of you show offs! Duh-doy!’

                ‘So you’re using me to hitch a ride?!’

                ‘Quit bickering, both of you!’ Optimus snapped. ‘I swear to God I am starting to feel less like a Prime and more like a marriage councillor with each passing day. Now focus, there’s a staircase ahead that should lead us on top of the facility; we should be able to sight where the vibrations are coming from there.’

                ‘I know the sound of a quantum engine when I hear it.’ Ironhide hesitated. ‘You think its Rodimus checking back on us?’

                ‘Somehow Ironhide…’

The two vehicles rolled up the jagged stairs leading them onto the roof where their automatic magna-clamps activated, keeping them from floating off of the massive circular platform. Hooked on to the facility next to the Ark was a hazel, semi-circle shaped spaceship, completed with a row of silver thrusters along its rim and pointed bow. Plastered on its side in large, violet ink was a Decepticon sigil.

                ‘I highly doubt that.’

\-----

                Nightbeat cruised through the Lost Light’s pink halls in robot mode, his soft-metal tailcoat writhing behind him and between his legs. He was no stranger to the Lost Light, and for the most part he could recite the names of at least half of the two-hundred inhabiting Autobots singlehandedly. Though even after Rodimus had recruited him as an honorary member of Team Rodimus, Nightbeat knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be staying for much longer. It wasn’t that he disliked Rodimus, in fact he found Rodimus’s eager attitude refreshing. It was that someone such as himself just simply couldn’t stay on a ship without a goal of its own. It is the same reason he couldn’t stay with Optimus, and why he left before the Prime had the chance to ask. While they were without goals, Nightbeat had too many. Luckily, living on the Lost Light was a bot that could help him accomplish one of said goals. He stopped outside the office and knocked three times.

                ‘Come in!’ A small voice called from within.

Nightbeat peeped his head into the room and grinned. ‘Hello Rung.’

The office was roomy enough, though from the looks of Rung’s thin stature, the room could very well have been bigger in sheer contrast. There was a desk and shelf piled with multiple pages of reports and brain patterns, though the majority of the shelf was fitted with multiple model spaceships ranging from Arks to Axalons. Rung himself had a thin spindly waist and arms that could very well have been nothing but unarmoured exoskeleton, where he did have armour however, it was a bright orange and popped against his silver frame. His face was narrow with a pointed nose and a pair of green glassed goggles that covered his optics.

                ‘Welcome Nightbeat.’ Rung was sitting at his desk with one leg draped over the other, he had been reading out of a now folded notebook as to focus on Nightbeat. He clasped his now-free hands and leaned forward, gesturing with his head to the empty slab next to him. ‘Would you care to lie down?’

Nightbeat shook his head. ‘I’m not here for an appointment doc, but thanks anyway.’

Rung beamed meekly, placing his servos beneath his chin. ‘What can I help you with?’

                ‘You’re the Psychotherapist Rung, can’t you figure that out yourself?’

                ‘You’re the detective Nightbeat, shouldn’t you be able to figure out that my intellect has bounds?’

Nightbeat raised his upper lip to the side quirkily. ‘Really? Mine doesn’t. Anyhow I’m looking for some information regarding a couple of Autobots.’

Rung raised a palm to him, shaking his head. ‘Patient – Doctor Confidentiality I’m afraid dear Nightbeat. I can’t spill anything regarding my patients’ psychological or personal information.’

                ‘That’s not what I’m looking for Rung.’ Nightbeat lowered himself to the slab and sat against its edge, smoothing his coat-tails under and over him. ‘Team Rodimus used to have a few other members on board, some scientists. Do you have any answers as to why they left, or where they went?’

Rung was taken aback, though his expression remained perplexed. ‘I think I know who you are talking about, and I can only give you a word, a name rather.’

                ‘And whose name might that be?’

                ‘Not “who”, Nightbeat.’ Rung shook his head in an almost dazed manner. ‘Kimia.’

\-----

                Optimus swung his axe as he approached the ship, Ironhide and Blackarachnia at either side of him. From the ship came four Decepticons, the largest stood in the center, acting as the leader of the group. He wore a faceplate, much like Optimus, though his eyes were crimson, and his helmet was a pitch black. He had a large amount of back-kibble though it seemed to armor him more than it did hinder him. His turquoise and magenta plated armor covered his limbs and torso, colour-coding him with the other three Decepticons that walked next to him. In his hand was a bright blade that spawned pink flames. Alongside him was a stout and bulky Decepticon and a taller, skinnier Decepticon, both sharing the same turquoise and magenta colour-scheme. The fourth was the only one to stand out, not just because she was the only female, but because of her white and bronze paint-job that made her stand out amongst the others. With a wave of the leader’s hand, all four Decepticons aimed their guns at the Autobots.

The Autobots reacted in turn, Optimus raised his axe like a shield as Ironhide charged his cannons. Blackarachnia expunged her blades, aiming them at the targets with four pragmatic optics.

Neither side moved. Both stared at the opposite faction, waiting for the other to make the first strike.

                ‘Snaptrap!’ a voice came from the Autobot’s left flank. It was a large, lobster-like creature, crawling over the rim of the facility’s roof. The metallic crustacean had apparently scaled the length of the cylindrical station on its own as its claws were marked with bruises. It transformed, changing into a fifth, turquoise and magenta Decepticon, jogging over to his commander. ‘I just checked out their ship. Absolutely no value whatsoever, all their machinery is dead, and they don’t have a single legitimate possession on board. The ship itself is about fifty years old, too young to be considered a collector’s item and too old to sell to the market.  We could barely sell it for a quart let alone a—.’ The Decepticon stopped, only then recognizing the situation. ‘Oh is this—is this a standoff? Did I enter in the middle of an epic standoff?’

The commander, “Snaptrap’s” optics blazed. ‘Yes Nautilator, it is. Where’s Seawing?’

                ‘Here.’ A large, robotic manta ray hovered above the group. It carried a net filled with dozens of Energon cubes. The manta transformed, landing next to Snaptrap and catching the netted Energon in his arms. ‘I surveyed at least half the complex, there was some leftover Energon distilled, but otherwise it’s barren.’

Snaptrap lowered his blade. ‘Dammit Seawing. Our Energon stock is already full! I have no use for this!’

                ‘Then maybe I do.’

Snaptrap turned his attention to Prime as he dropped his axe.

                ‘Be honest with me, you’re pirates, right? If that’s so then you’re out for credits. I’ll buy those Energon cubes from you for three-thousand credits.’

Snaptrap raised a brow. ‘Make it four-thousand.’

                ‘Deal.’

Optimus tapped at his wrist, forwarding the credits to Snaptrap who responded by tossing the netted cubes over to him. Optimus wasted no time in picking up his axe and Energon.

Snaptrap motioned his crew to drop their weapons. ‘It’s alright, they’re cool.’

                ‘They’re Autobots!’ The skinny one argued.

                ‘And we’re pirates, Overbite!’ The captain retorted. ‘Megatron told us that as long as we don’t assault other Decepticons, then we can do what we want. And you know what I _don’t_ want? To fight a war for our mad king.’ He eyed the three Autobots as they relinquished their weapons. ‘…Absolute waste of ammo… So what about you lot? Do you want to fight or would you let us check out the rest of this giant cylinder for treasure?’

For a second, Ironhide could catch a glimmer in Prime’s optic, his faceplate parted revealing a cracking smile. ‘Treasure?’

Ironhide sighed. ‘And thus the child-like youth of Optimus Prime has resurfaced.’

\-----

                ‘I kind of have a thing for pirates.’ Optimus said as he strolled next to Snaptrap. ‘Mostly from movies but… you know.’

Optimus Prime accompanied Snaptrap through the corridors of the facility. Having come to an agreement, Optimus and Snaptrap decided to explore for treasure themselves. They decided on a first come-first serve principal, if either disagreed with the loot distribution, then a firefight would have to settle it. Ironhide, as well as well as the bronze and white femme Scylla and Seawing accompanied them from behind while Blackarachnia stayed at the Ark to refill its fuel-tank alongside the bulky Archerbot, the skinny Overbite, and the stupid Nautilator. While Seawing seemed distant, Scylla was… touchy.

                ‘So… where are _you_ from?’ Scylla’s alternate mode was evidently that of a squid-creature as a thin tentacle wrapped itself around Ironhide’s waist.

                ‘Um… Where I was born? Well, I was born on Cybertron but…’

                ‘Cybertron? How fascinating, you must be old to have been around while Cybertron was still habitable.’

                ‘…Yeah.’

Scylla edged closer to Ironhide, her tentacles feeling him up and down. ‘I guess that makes you all the more… experienced.’

Ironhide made a nervous laugh. ‘Heh… um… OPTIMUS?!’

But the commanders were too busy talking amongst themselves to take notice.

                ‘Yeah, believe it or not, pirate movies are part of why I took the gig.’

                ‘No kidding?’

\-----

Blackarachnia finished loading the Energon into the Ark’s fuel chamber. Using it to jumpstart the quantum engines and activate the electricity momentarily before shutting it back down for the sake of conservation. To celebrate her ability to refuel a spaceship, Blackarachnia lied on her back atop of the Ark, her arms rested behind her head and her legs folded one over the other.

                ‘Hey!’

Her four optics fluttered open, staring upward to find an equal number of eyes staring down at her from the roof of the facility. It was Nautilator and Overbite.

                ‘I said hey!’ Nautilator repeated. ‘You’re a beast-former right?’

She sat up, eyeing the self-designated “Seacon-Pirates”. ‘What’s it to ya?’

                ‘I mean.’ Nautilator scratched the back of his head before sliding down the rim of the facility and landing on the Ark with Overbite in tow. ‘You don’t have any wheels or wings so either you’re a mono-former or you turn into a beast of some kind. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m only asking because we’re _all_ beast-formers. I turn into a lobster, Overbite here turns into a shark and Snaptrap’s a big-ol’ turtle.’

                ‘Yeah? Huh, I turn into a freaking spider. It’s not great, there’s a lot of mass-displacement involved and the energy consumption is literally painful.’

                ‘Ah…’ Nautilator had his back to her as he peered down the space between the Ark and the Kimian backup. ‘Well that… sucks.’

Overbite let out a grunt. ‘Say, I’ve been wondering.’

Blackarachnia shut her optics. Laying on her back once again. ‘Wonder away.

                ‘I get that you’re on the Decepticon’s death-list and all, but why are you working with Autobots?’

Blackarachnia sighed. ‘Why aren’t _you_ fighting him?’

Overbite shrugged. ‘Touché, I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re as apathetic towards the war as they are, but still, isn’t it a little awkward to work with the same bots that were trying to kill you?’

                ‘I have to admit…’ She sat up groggily. ‘It doesn’t seem like it’s worth bunking with a couple of stuck-up Autobots, but you know, when you have no friends, and no one else will take you in, you have very few options left to take if you want to survive when the universe is out to kill you.’

\-----

                ‘So…’ Optimus peeped in the doors at a slower rate due to the fear of finding something Snaptrap may have actually wanted for himself. ‘The “Butcher of the Bogs”.’

Snaptrap failed to properly react. ‘So?’

                ‘That’s what they called you right? You’re Decepticon Navy Commander Snaptrap, known for finding great enjoyment in butchering and uh… bogs.’

Snaptrap sighed. ‘Yep, that’s me. You can relax though, ever since I went pirate I’ve managed to cool off a bit.’

                ‘That’s reassuring.’ He lied.

                ‘So.’ Snaptrap’s normally monotonous voice raised a pitch. ‘What’s your story? What are you looking for?’

                ‘What am I looking for?’ Optimus echoed in thought, staring at the ceiling. The sounds of Scylla’s flirtations towards Ironhide was all that could be heard behind them. ‘Peace… or that’s what I _would_ say, but that’s a little unfair isn’t it? I suppose I’m looking for someone… someone who can help me.’

                ‘And who is this someone?’

Optimus locked eyes with Snaptrap and tapped the side of his nose mockingly.

Snaptrap tilted his head to the side and nodded. ‘Fair enough… why do you want to find this “someone”?’

                ‘Well, I think this person can— let’s say help me get over a few things. You see, recently I kind of… killed someone.’

                ‘Well I mean we _are_ in a war so—’

Optimus waved a hand crossly. ‘I _know_ , this wasn’t the first time I killed mind you, it’s just… this one was different. He was crippled, couldn’t hurt a fly if he wanted to, but—he kind of left a mark on me. We had a history see? And when it came to that last moment, when he begged for me to kill him I snapped. I shot him dead.’

                ‘You executed him.’

                ‘Yeah, but that’s not what bothers me. What bothers me is that I can’t get him off my mind. Everywhere I look I can see him, his face, everywhere… as much as I want to believe it, part of me feels like he will never truly be dead. Hell, even your buddy Nautilator sounds just like him.’

Snaptrap raised a skeptical brow. ‘Really? Because a lot of people say Nautilator sounds just like Megatron…’

Prime’s spark raced. ‘Sorry—really?’

                ‘Yeah, I can’t say it’s the most fitting voice for him, but Megatron keeps giving him promotions and such so I guess he must have _some_ talent hidden in that thick skull of his.’

Prime exhaled his worries. ‘Well, that’s odd.’

Snaptrap narrowed his optics, obviously discontent over the state of command. ‘It is. But you know, I actually do have an idea of what you’re going through.’

                ‘I highly doubt that.’

Snaptrap raised his eyebrows in an almost child-like manner. ‘I do!’ His faceplate shifted as he began to explain. ‘I was demoted a while back, placed under the command of a Decepticon named Cannonball. It was his idea to work as a pirate mercenary or whatever. Since he was a peace of crap commander and got all his old troops killed, Megatron decided to send me and my team under his command as part of my demotion and… it really sucked. Cannonball was the worst, he killed for pleasure (not that I wasn’t guilty of that as well), looted from chumps and the innocent, (not that I didn’t do that either), and ogled the breast-plate of any femme that came by him, (I preferred looking at the mech-plates myself…). But he always took it to the next degree and at one point, when I caught him assaulting Nautilator I realized, you know what? This guy is a freaking asshole.’

Their walk continued, their paces slowing.

                ‘And?’

                ‘And then I killed him.’

                ‘Oh.’

Snaptrap’s chest expanded as he inhaled. ‘Yeah, I strapped a bomb to him and kicked him off the side of the ship.’

                ‘Ahh…’

                ‘And that was _after_ I stabbed him a bunch of times.’

                ‘Wow.’

                ‘And since I had set the bomb for thirty minutes longer than intended. I decided to ram the ship into him a couple of times.’

                ‘Oh my God.’

                ‘Yeah, then I used the windshield wipers to pry his splattered frame off.’

                ‘Jesus… so then the bomb killed him?’

                ‘Nah, after the bomb went off I did a search and found his charred body. So I stabbed him a bit more after that.’

                ‘Ho—holy shit!’

                ‘Yeah… if he was a bog…’ Snaptrap reared his head to the Autobot, glaring at him through his crimson optics. ‘…He would be _so_ butchered.’

Optimus felt his agitation develop further. ‘So uh… you killed your boss and—and that sucks I guess.’

                ‘I see him.’

                ‘You… you what?’

Snaptrap nodded, his optics remained drooped and uncaring. ‘You see… his name wasn’t actually “Cannonball”. It was a title, a pirate title owned by his previous commander and the one before that. I was meant to adopt that title, but I couldn’t. He was such a—he was terrible, worse than I ever was. I couldn’t take the name that killed and ruined so many, and because I didn’t, because I didn’t _become_ Cannonball, that name it’s—I don’t know how to put it into words, the more I think about it, the more it feels like that name, and that person, are both still alive somewhere.’

                Optimus squeezed his elbow into his chest uncomfortably. ‘Well, to be completely and truly honest with you Snaptrap, your logic sounds—.’

                ‘Absolutely stupid, I know, but you know what else? Believing in ghosts is pretty stupid as well.’

                ‘Then I suppose that makes us both stupid.’

                ‘Agreed.’

It wasn’t until Optimus had reached the end of the corridor did he realize that Snaptrap had stopped following him. He tilted his head to face the Decepticon. ‘Hey, did you find anything?’

Snaptrap shook his head. ‘No. And I think that’s exactly the point, there doesn’t appear to be anything of value here after all.’ He waved a hand to the following Seawing and Scylla to halt. ‘We’ll be heading back to our ship to pack up, you coming?’

Optimus turned his back to him. ‘This facility works in a big circle, we’ll finish the loop and do the same.’

The Seacon nodded, waving to his co-harts to follow him. Escaping from Scylla’s grip, Ironhide bounded towards Optimus awkwardly.

                ‘Having fun?’ Optimus smirked.

                ‘Screw you.’

\-----

                ‘What do you see in that guy?’ Seawing interrogated on the way to the ship.

                ‘You mean the Autobot?’ A thin smile stretched across Scylla’s lips. ‘I have a thing for big robots. You jealous Seawing?’

                ‘Hilarious.’

Snaptrap waved a frustrated servo at them as he held his communicator to his audio receptor. ‘Would both of you shut up?! I’m trying to reach Nautilator, he says he has a very urgent message from high command.’

Seawing frowned as he folded his arms together uncomfortably. ‘Why would they call now? Either Nautilator wants to brag about another promotion from Megatron or they finally found out that we’re _not_ killing Autobots. Maybe we shouldn’t mention the Prime and his buddies.’

Snaptrap shrugged in subtle agreement. ‘Very well. But really, be quiet or I’ll strangle you both, Nautilator is speaking.’

From the other end of the line, Nautilator’s voice crackled, prompting Scylla and Seawing to gather inward so they could listen for themselves. _‘Snaptrap? Oh my God—can you hear me?!’_

Snaptrap straightened his posture upon the sudden sound of urgency in Nautilator’s voice. ‘Nautilator! I read you, what’s wrong?’

                _‘I just received a message from Soundwave, it’s—we were late in receiving it, either I missed it or we flew through a dark zone.’_

                ‘Get to the point, what did the message say?’

Snaptrap could hear Nautilator audibly gulp on the other end of the line. _‘Megatron. He was killed in action over a week ago.’_

Snaptrap made no reaction to move, his mind was swirling with dead-end thoughts and inconsistencies that told him otherwise. And yet, there was something that told him that he was hearing was the truth. ‘What— NO! I—that’s impossible, he called us this morning, ‘told us that he wanted to give you another raise in salary.’

                _‘Um… yeah, about that. You know how people say my voice sounds like Megatron’s?’_

‘Yeah.’ Suddenly, everything began to click into place as Snaptrap shifted his face-plate. ‘You spawn of a glitch, do _not_ tell me all those calls regarding your promotions were really _you_ posing as our leader over the phone!’

                _‘Er… yeah.’_

                ‘I am going to freaking kill you when I get ba—‘

                ‘Hold on Snaptrap!’ Scylla spouted, wrapping a calming tentacle around his lower arm. ‘Maybe we should focus on the big picture, like how Megatron is _dead._ ’

The Decepticon nodded, shooing the squid-transformer away and wrapping his hands over the back of his neck. ‘Okay. Nautilator, with Megatron out of the picture, who’s in command? Starscream? Shockwave?’

                _‘Soundwave is playing regent at the moment, but here’s the funny part. Whoever kills Megatron’s murderer gets to decide on the next Decepticon Leader! And what’s better? His killer’s name is_ Optimus Prime!’

Snaptrap let his arms go limp. His optics shut themselves on instinct as if every past mistake had rushed into him at once.

                ‘ _Snaptrap? I said the—‘_

‘I heard what you said Nautilator. Now listen carefully, I want you to gather Overbite and Archerbot and kill that spider. After that, take the left-most route and trap them from the other side.’ He jabbed a digit in the direction from which they came. ‘Scylla, Seawing, we’re taking on the Prime and his lackey from behind.’ He unsheathed his blade. ‘It’s time to take some names!’


	16. Swashbuckling

After the fourteenth minute, Optimus had decided that he was sick of small, dark hallways. He had spent the week before running from a giant spider through small, dark hallways, he was forced to live in a ship comprised of small, dark hallways, and now he was collaborating with Decepticons. In a small dark hallway. While Snaptrap and his gang had since gone the opposite direction, Optimus still felt a sense of unease around the Decepticon pirates. He was willing to place a degree of trust in them, but Prime was no idiot; he knew the Decepticons better than any one Autobot. Ironhide struggled beside him, his posture slackened and his head hung low.

                ‘I don’t mean to sully your great life choices or nothing,’ the black Autobot grumbled callously, ‘but Decepticon sympathizing does not suit you in the slightest.’

                ‘I’m only trying to stay unbiased, Ironhide. We made a deal and reached an agreement without a single drop of Energon shed. I call that progress.’

Ironhide bobbed his head and let out a huff. ‘That’s not going to help us against every group of Decepticons that come our way you know…’

                ‘I know _that_. But it’s still an option, and just now, that option worked.’ He exhaled, staring at the ceiling as he walked. ‘We’re too far gone, Ironhide. I think we’re all aware of this to some extent, but it comes down to how we react to it that makes the difference. There are those who realize this and keep going forward and farther down the deep end, there are those that think they can go back only to fight the current, and then there are those that go neither forward nor backward and manage to stay afloat.’ He glanced at Ironhide. ‘Do you get what I’m saying?’

Ironhide blinked. ‘I get that you like sounding pretentious if that’s what you’re saying.’

Optimus sighed. ‘It’s a metaphor. I’m trying to say that we’re not all so different.’

                ‘I’d beg to differ.’

Optimus and Ironhide discontinued their advance as the voice’s source came into view. Ahead of them was Blackarachnia. She was in her spider-form and had been carrying the stasis-locked bodies of Archerbot and Overbite on her back. The spider transformed, shifting and folding into the smaller, more humanoid being before dropping the two battered bodies at their feet.  ‘Heh, “different”, “differ”. You see what I—‘

Optimus was fuming. He brandished his index finger and jabbed it towards the spider. ‘What did you do, Blackarachnia, what the _hell_ did you do?!’

                ‘Easy, easy.’ Blackarachnia pushed her servos against open air as she retreated backwards from the advancing Prime. ‘These two attacked me first, Nautilator too but it didn’t take much to scare him back into a corner… I was merely protecting myself.’

Optimus stopped and stared at the spider. ‘They attacked first? Did you do anything that may have caused them to act this way?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at all, they didn’t say a word, one moment I was laid back and ready to doze off, and the next I find these two jumping at me as if I were fish-chow.’

Ironhide wrinkled a brow in Prime’s direction. ‘How shocking…’

Blackarachnia stammered, lurched forward, and coughed up a chunk of oil and blood before catching her balance. She leaned back, wiping her mouth with a trembling servo. ‘And there goes the feeling in my throat…’

Optimus raised a gentle servo as If to steady her. ‘Whoa are you alright?’

                ‘I used up all my energy transforming. …I’m gonna be honest… I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stand up to any more pirates for a—’ She hacked into her arm once again. ‘For a while…’

Optimus nodded. ‘We’ll handle it, if you need to recharge then stay behind us until you feel ready to intervene. If Snaptrap ordered these two to attack you, then chances are he’s on his way back here to finish us off.’

                ‘Right you are.’

Three sets of optics flashed to the other end of the corridor, locking on to Snaptrap, Seawing and Scylla. Snaptrap had his sword drawn. Its flames a bright pink hue.

                ‘You are a wanted man, Optimus. Some might say the bounty on your head is the highest in Cybertronian history.’

Shocked, Ironhide stared at Optimus through widened optics. ‘Optimus, what is he saying?’

Snaptrap spread his arms out to either side as he explained. ‘You didn’t bother to tell your own teammates? Optimus Prime, I know you’re secret. You killed the most powerful Transformer in the galaxy. You killed Megatron. Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting any sort of judgement for your actions.’

Ironhide and Blackarachnia remained speechless, their optics stuck on Prime’s image.

                ‘The Conclave has issued a reward for your death. He who kills you is granted Decepticon Leadership, or more favorably the given choice for Decepticon Leadership.’ Snaptrap’s fingers writhed as the possibilities journeyed through his mind. ‘Imagine it… the Decepticons are built on ego and machismo alone, just think of all the scoundrels who would pay me millions to affirm their place in power. I could end my career and retire for the rest of my life! In a measly hour I could accomplish a thousand times what Cannonball couldn’t in a lifetime.’

Optimus unfolded his axe and spun it in his grasp. ‘So, you’d sell your bounty to whoever pays the most? You don’t care what kind of maniac might pick up from where Megatron left off?’

Ironhide tugged at Optimus’s arm gently. ‘Optimus you—he’s lying right? So— why aren’t you calling him out on it? Why aren’t you denying…’ But when Optimus refused to give a response, Ironhide had come to realize that he had been lied to.

                ‘We’ll talk about this later Ironhide. First…’ His faceplate shifted into place over his mouth. ‘We have some swashbuckling to do.’ Optimus charged forward, dragging his axe against the metal floor and leaving a trail of sparks behind him. Snaptrap did the same, raising his blade above his head before smashing it into the ground and sending a pulse of pink flames rippling towards the Prime. His paint peeling and his armor crinkling, Optimus bit down and shrugged off the pain to deliver a swift blow to Snaptrap’s shoulder with the hilt of his axe.

Seawing and Scylla followed their commander and transformed. In his flying manta-form, Seawing soared past the clashing leaders and towards Blackarachnia, shifting into his robot mode and delivering a hefty punch to her cranium.

The former-Decepticon doubled back and somersaulted onto her feet. She activated her blades and twisted her body, swinging all six of them at Seawing like the turbine blade of a massive fan. The blades sliced through Seawing’s mid-section, creating a large scar running from one pectoral to the other and leaving a burning orange-lava-like liquid leaking from where they left. Recoiling for only a moment, Seawing swung another fist to Blackarachnia’s helm and in the same movement delivered a roundhouse kick to her stomach. Falling to her knees, Seawing elbowed Blackarachnia in the back of the head, knocking her helmet off before drop kicking her in the gut once again, forcing her to cough up another wad as she fell backwards onto her knees. The Seacon then activated a pair of proton blasters from his wrists, spinning around and firing two shots into her shoulder that sent chunks of metal ricocheting outward. He fired his second blaster into the wall behind her, blowing it apart and burying his foe in the falling rubble.

Ironhide fired a charged shot at Scylla which the squid managed to evade with little effort. The squid then formed back into robot mode and wrapped her large tentacles around Ironhide’s torso, constricting his body and popping his seems; causing Energon to leak from several spots on his body.

                ‘Oh? You don’t seem fazed.’ Scylla remarked through a thin-lipped grin. ‘I wasn’t aware you were into this sort of thing.’

                ‘For the record lady.’ Ironhide swung his head forward, smashing it into Scylla’s before activating his cannons, blowing off Scylla’s tentacles and relieving himself from her grasp. ‘You disturb the crap out of me.’

                Recovering from the blast, Scylla rose to her feet and cracked her neck into place. ‘Well, no offense but even if you have the firepower, your recharge time is much too slow…’

Ironhide tapped at his waist, unfolding a panel and revealing a hidden pistol. Wrapping his beefy fingers around the gun, Ironhide aimed it at Scylla’s head and grinned. ‘I wouldn’t be considered one of the top Autobot weapons specialists from the Academy if I didn’t carry more than two guns with me.’ Ironhide pulled the trigger, though instead of a shell, the gun croaked, and a blob of torched, gummy blue material shot out instead. Sticking to Scylla before dropping to the floor.

                Ironhide blinked before throwing the pistol to the ground and cursing. ‘DAMN IT BLACKARACHNIA I can’t believe you were serious when you said you put sticky-tack in my—!’

But before he could finish, he was met with a large, thick, tentacle, slamming into his chest and pinning him against the wall. ‘Sorry hun.’ Scylla spoke faux apathetically. ‘But it looks like Seawing’s already dealt with your bitchy spider friend. My, that didn’t take long.’

Ironhide’s belt shifted again, only this time a large, bladed battle-knife ejected from it. Ironhide grabbed it with his free hand and sliced it clean through Scylla’s tentacle, freeing him once again. As the squid recoiled, Ironhide grabbed hold of the severed tentacle and swung it into Scylla’s body like a club. The force of which sent her tumbling to the ground. Darting around to check on Blackarachnia, Ironhide found himself faced with Seawing as he glided towards him in manta-form. Ironhide tossed his knife in the air and caught it with his other servo. Ironhide threw the blade at the manta, nailing his right optic dead center and prompting the Decepticon to scream as liquid oozed from the caved-in socket. The manta flapped its wings violently before crashing into the floor and skidding to a halt. As Scylla regained her footing, Ironhide managed to grab Seawing by his tail, using it as leverage to swing the Decepticon’s large body into Scylla’s, slamming them both into the corridor’s metal walls.

Scylla’s expression morphed into an icy glare as she shot her remaining tentacle at Ironhide. Prepared this time, Ironhide grabbed the slithering tentacle with his left servo and tugged backwards. Pulling her into range, Ironhide thrusted his right arm forward and smashed his fist into her face, caving it in and dashing her teeth out of her skull. Spasms coursed through Scylla’s body as the force distribution flipped her upside down and onto her back. As the two damaged Decepticons drunkenly stumbled back onto their feet, Ironhide clicked his cannons into place and fired two shots in either direction, blowing apart Scylla and Seawing’s chests in a spray of fire and energy; forcing them into stasis.

Content with the fight, Ironhide blew the smoke from his cannon’s and retrieved his knife from Seawing’s body. ‘You didn’t last much longer.’

Flames and sparks fizzled and popped as Prime’s axe clashed with Snaptrap’s blade. Both parties doubled back from the force of the clashing metal. With his opponent taken off-guard, Optimus took the chance and kicked off the ground, round-house kicking Snaptrap in the rib before upper-cutting him in the chin. As Snaptrap kept his balance, Optimus leapt upward, spinning horizontally thought the air and slicing his axe through the Decepticon’s back kibble. As he prepared a punch, a pair of large arc-cannons erupted from Snaptrap’s back, aiming over his shoulders and at Optimus. The cannons fired large cylindrical rounds that deflected off of Optimus’s axe but not without sending him tumbling back a few feet. As Snaptrap readied a second shot, Ironhide’s battle-knife tore into the back of the Seacon’s hand, forcing him to drop his sword.

On his feet, Optimus charged the Seacon with clenched fists. ‘Ironhide! Artillery mode!’

As ordered, Ironhide leaped into the air, turning and shifting before landing smack down as his tank-like vehicle form, topped with his amalgamated cannons that extended as they focused on their target. The cannon fired a pitch-white blast into Snaptrap’s back, setting it ablaze as the pirate captain lurched forward, grasping at empty air. His hands clasped together, Optimus swung his servos at Snaptrap’s face, cracking his head backwards and sending him onto the floor. Retreating to pick up his axe, Ironhide transformed and delivered a kick to Snaptrap’s stomach as he stumbled on his knees.

Optimus brought the bright orange blade of his axe to Snaptrap’s neck. ‘You brought this on yourself Snaptrap, say the word and you’ll be taken prisoner.’

Snaptrap coughed into the ground. ‘Like you did Megatron?’

Optimus hesitated, granting Snaptrap just the right amount of time to transform. Astonished by the whirl of changing metal, Prime was forced onto his aft as Snaptrap took the form of a massive, robotic snapping turtle, his cannons merged on his back like a giant turret.

Prime waved an urgent servo at Ironhide. ‘Dammit, get down!’

Snaptrap’s turret rotated in place, firing a barrage of laser fire in an arc and forcing Ironhide and Optimus on to their stomachs. Snaptrap changed form once again, lifting himself to his feet as a bulky robot. ‘You think that’s all I’ve got? Do you think that after travelling the galaxy I wouldn’t have picked up at least a few tricks?’ Snapping his fingers, a thin tentacle emerged from Snaptrap’s wrist. ‘Seacons! Pull yourselves together, activate protocol 010!’

                Optimus and Ironhide readied their stances, as did the four other Seacons. Drowsy and beaten, Scylla, Seawing, Archerbot and Overbite vibrated as a set of tentacles emerged from each of their pores. Before Optimus could react, a pair of long, metallic tendrils, slithered forward from either of Snaptrap’s wrists. The tentacles skimmed past Optimus’s face and linked with Seawing and Overbite. Connecting with a click, the tentacles retracted, pulling the two Seacons into Snaptrap’s body. The second pair of tendrils emerged from Snaptrap’s ankles, shooting forward and connecting with Scylla and Archerbot. On his back, the bodies of the four other Seacons reeled towards Snaptrap, each’s panels shifting and transforming over one another until what replaced them was an ever-changing pile of moving metal.

                ‘Wait…’ Ironhide waggled an anxious finger at the changing mass. ‘That’s… I know this, I’ve seen studies on this technology.’

Optimus raised a brow. ‘Technology? This looks like one of those things you’d expect to find in Rodimus’s browser history… But, what _are_ they doing?’

                ‘It’s called the Gestalt project. When three or more Transformers use their very bodies as a near-indestructible armor for another.’

Optimus whirled his head to face the metallic mass as it began to take shape. ‘So this is—‘

                ‘Oh yes…’ Snaptrap’s voice echoed, taking a humanoid shape, the large mass clicked into place, forming a robot at least four to five times the size of Snaptrap. ‘The Piranacon Armor is what they call it, and like this…’ Snaptrap’s sword unsheathed from his wrist, reaching a size in scale to the larger robot. ‘…like this I am more than either of you can handle.’

Rotating his sword to face downward, Piranacon thrusted it into the floor sending a pulse rippling through the air. Pink and magenta cracks etched into the hallway’s metal plating before erupting into a flurry of pink flames that danced throughout the corridor. The hallway broke apart and the two Autobots fell through the broken flooring. Optimus wasn’t sure how far he fell, but when he hit the ground, pain seared up his spinal-strut and throughout his entire body.

Lifting himself from the shattered floor, Optimus surveyed his surroundings before hearing a loud crash. ‘Ironhide?’ He caught a glimpse of Ironhide’s unconscious body, trapped under a pile of rubble as Piranacon approached.

                ‘I’m afraid you’re all alone this time.’ Piranacon spoke, admiring his newly enlarged servos. ‘I gotta say, dropping by Kimia was one of the most scarring moments of my life. But snagging this Gestalt tech? That made the trip beyond worth it.’

Upon advancing towards the Prime, Piranacon’s towering height became all the more evident. While the floor had since given way beneath them, Piranacon’s head still reached the ceiling of the story above. The remnants of the lower floor’s ceiling came up to Piranacon’s waist, creating a cramped environment for the armored Decepticon.

Optimus kicked the ground, turning the opposite direction and sprinting away from the Gestalt.

                ‘Oh come on!’ Piranacon reached forward, swinging his arms and smashing them through the facilities walls as if they were made of cardboard. ‘Why run? You can’t escape; even if you could, if I don’t kill you someone else will. You are literally delaying the inevitable.’

Piranacon slammed his fist through the two stories, breaking apart the ground behind the fleeing Optimus. While Piranacon was massive, he was stereotypically slow, and the narrow walls around him only hindered him more. Tearing through the facility around him, Piranacon gained on Optimus. ‘This would be so much easier if Nautilator was around to form the gun…’ the Gestalt grumbled.

_This would be so much easier if I had a gun._ Turning a left, Optimus transformed into his Cybertronian truck form and boosted his thrusters, racing up a large ramp. He could hear the sound of Piranacon tackling through a wall as his massive footsteps gained on him. Boosting up the ramp, Optimus found himself back on top of the facility, his magna-clamps activating as he transformed back into a robot.

Spying the Ark in the distance, Optimus made a beeline, only for Piranacon’s massive servo to reach upward, crashing through the cylinder’s roof. The giant tore a large hole into the cylinder with both hands before grabbing it by its edges and pulling himself up.

                ‘Dammit!’ Optimus cursed, his goal still in sight.

                ‘I’ve found you!’ Piranacon laughed as he crashed his fist into the floor under Optimus. Thrown backwards from the force of the shifting mass, Optimus somersaulted backwards and landed slickly on his pedes. Readying his footing, Optimus sprinted forward and up the armored warriors arm. Taking him by surprise, Optimus jumped on to Piranacon’s head, brandishing his axe and digging it into the giants face.

                ‘DAMMIT!’ recoiling from the attack, Piranacon clenched his fist and thrusted it towards his attacker, only for Optimus to dodge, resulting in the gestalt punching himself in the face. Piranacon stumbled backwards, losing his footing from the newly formed hole in the facility and nearly falling back into the wrecked cylinder, saving himself last minute with his elbows against the cavity’s rim.

                ‘Why are you hitting yourself?’ Optimus teased as he punched the larger robot in the face, leaving indents and bruises across his cheeks. ‘Ever read David and Goliath Snaptrap? The bigger they are the harder they fall!’

Wracking his brains with ideas, Piranacon shifted his body, rolling over and pulling himself back on to the cylinder’s circumference. ‘Nautilator!’ His roaring voice was like metal. ‘Get out here!’

Dashing out from the pirate’s ship came the worried looking cyan and magenta coloured Decepticon: Nautilator. ‘Snaptrap! Wait, I think we might need to—’

                ‘Gun mode. NOW!’

Doing as his commanding officer ordered, Nautilator leaped upwards, transforming into a massive laser pistol that fit snug into the giant’s grasp. ‘I swear to Primus Nautilator, if you shoot me in the head… Optimus! I hate to break it to you, but there’s a better saying. It’s called “I’m a giant robot and I have a gun. That means I win.”’ Piranacon raised the gun to his face and fired two shots into Prime’s back. Chunks of red metal shot outward as Optimus lost his grip on Piranacon’s helm. The Prime fell to the ground and onto his stomach, a black crater smoking rapidly from his back. Piranacon aimed the pistol at Optimus and fired another shot into the Prime’s back, causing him to spasm as energy surged through his being. His body laid smoking and broken, the battle was evidently over. As Piranacon attempted to fire a fourth time, the gun jammed.

                ‘What is it now Nautilator?! One more shot through the midsection and he’s dead.’

                ‘That’s the point Snaptrap!’ Escaping the giant’s grasp, Nautilator transformed, bumbling onto his knees sheepishly. ‘The call, the contract. Soundwave needs proof of the Prime’s death! We can’t kill him until it is witnessed by a Conclave representative!’

Piranacon’s faceplate shifted as he grimaced, slamming his fist into the ground in a fit of rage. The giant began to break down into its smaller components. Unfurling, disconnecting and reconnecting as he retook the form of the five separate robots.

                ‘Very well.’ Snaptrap said, warps and dents marked across his frame from the fight. ‘Grab the other two. We’ll shove in the brig until further notice. In the meantime, we call Soundwave. He’s not the only one I want to see this…’


	17. Pirated Trust

                _The King Poseidon_ was a dank and cluttered ship. When its rooms weren’t brimming with material possession and stacks of debatable treasures, they had merged functions to reserve more space much to the chagrin of others. For example, it wouldn’t be hard to understand Scylla’s repulsion to the fact that the kitchen and bathroom were one and the same, as is the dance hall and library (Snaptrap has since questioned why he bothered purchasing a ship with such functions). For once, the merging of two room functions came to be beneficial. The comms room and the (newly formatted) prison component, built following the Prime’s capture with this specific kind of situation in mind. Five of the Seacons stood around the room’s tight, boxy perimeter as Nautilator worked.

Nautilator tapped in the last of the commands into the ship’s console and stepped back to admire his handy-work. ‘Okay, if I’m not wrong then that _should_ be able to stabilize it.’

Snaptrap nodded vaguely in approval. ‘Yeah, nice job Nautilator, it’s as if he’s really here.’

                ‘Took you long enough.’ Soundwave scolded, his hologram taking its place beside Snaptrap, surveying the room as if he were truly among them. ‘Now then, I believe it would be optimal for all of us if we are to proceed to business immediately.’

Seawing turned around and faced the cage located in the back of the room. It was rectangular and cramped, cracks of rust formed down the large metal bars. Inside were Optimus and Ironhide, their wrists bound behind their backs by a pair of stasis cuffs each. ‘Then I suppose the boss should do the honours?’

Snaptrap’s fingers curled into a fist. ‘No. Not yet.’

Soundwave remained motionless. ‘With all due respect Captain Snaptrap, as Regent Emperor of the Decepticons, I must advise that the bounty be carried out as swiftly as possible. Even as a prisoner, the Prime proves himself a threat.’

                ‘I don’t care.’ Snaptrap felt obliged to jab a finger at Soundwave’s chest but stopped himself short, realizing his hand would only pass through the tangible hologram foolishly. ‘Soundwave, I want you to film and broadcast this footage to any and all Decepticon colonies or outposts. Chaar, Lucifer, everywhere.’

Soundwave rested the top of his hand beneath his chin in suspicion.

                ‘By doing so, there would be no question in regards to my legitimacy— the whole Galaxy can be my witness.’ He paused and turned his head aside. ‘And if Cannonball is really out there… he’ll get to see what I’ve finally accomplished.’

Soundwave’s visor glowed a bright turquoise as he took in the situation. ‘Very well.’ He raised a digit to the kneeling prisoners. ‘Keep them secure. What you propose could take a while.’ Soundwave’s hologram dissipated as Overbite and Archerbot entered the room. Between them was the stasis-cuffed Blackarachnia, dragged between them by a humiliatingly short chain.

                ‘“As Regent Emperor” …I hate that guy.’ Snaptrap muttered to himself.

Overbite cleared his voice, signalling he was going to speak. ‘Hey boss, I found the third one, the chick.’

Snaptrap nodded offhandedly and motioned towards the cell in the back of the room. ‘Throw her in with the others, and make sure she’s secure, we are _not_ letting anyone escape from here. Not today.’

                ‘No slag…’ Archerbot muttered, roughly dragging her along. Seawing opened the cell door for them gently, as if he were escorting a young child to their bed. In contrast, Archerbot roughly tossed the femme into the cell and shut the door as fast as he could.

Ironhide’s optics drooped unimpressed. ‘Look who’s not dead.’

Blackarachnia raised her head and smiled scornfully at the two. ‘Hey losers, what’s up?’

Optimus sat in the far corner (and the grimiest area) of the cell, his lowered head implying that he wasn’t awake. Ironhide on the other hand was ready for another fight.

                ‘Me?’ Ironhide swallowed down in bafflement. ‘You’re calling _me_ a loser? Because if I recall correctly it was _you_ who went down before anyone else!’

Blackarachnia rolled her optics, she was grinning widely but her teeth were evidently clenched in upset. ‘Oh yes! Yes of course! Let’s all put aside the fact that I took down half of them on my own and weakened one more for you. Let’s also disregard the fact that I go anemic whenever I transform! So yeah let’s all criticize Blackarachnia and in the meantime praise the great Ironhide for his overcompensating cannons. Because that’s what makes a great. Freaking. Warrior. Innit? Bigger guns.’

That was the last straw. ‘You have no right to lecture _me_ on what being a warrior is about, I’ve been fighting in this war long before you were even--‘

                ‘Built! Right, yeah. ‘Cause that means you have all the more experience. We get it. You want to prove you’re a badass. For what it’s worth, doing this longer and accomplishing less technically puts you below me.’

Ironhide shifted on his knees, his temper reaching boiling point. ‘You little punk! If I weren’t restricted by these blasted stasis-cuffs— and if Prime didn’t forbid it of course – I would beat down the shit out of you until you were nothing more than a bloody pile of waste matter!’

                ‘I didn’t forbid it.’

Both robots turned to face the sullen Prime. His voice was uncharacteristically tepid.

Ironhide’s expression drooped in worry. ‘What?’

                ‘I never said you couldn’t fight. I just threatened to kill whoever kills the other.’ He waved an uncaring servo at the two. ‘Go on, fight; knock your teeth out… see if I care.’

Blackarachnia exchanged a bitter glance with Ironhide before speaking her thoughts. ‘Are a… are you feeling okay boss? You seem a little… tense. Kind of emo actually.’

Prime responded with an icy glare. ‘I’m not sure you know this, Blackarachnia, but I have been fighting in this war for just as long as Ironhide. Back in the academy we had a saying, boasting about your fighting prowess should only be legitimized by following action, and I intend to boast a lot if you keep riding this snark train.’

                ‘To be fair Optimus…’ Ironhide’s words felt suddenly shallow. ‘…You know what …never mind.’

                ‘What?’

                ‘It’s nothing. Forget about it.’

                ‘No. Ironhide, I order you to finish what you were going to say.’

Ironhide shook his head. ‘I’m sorry Prime, but you haven’t _really_ fought in this war as long as you say you have. You spent the past few centuries guarding Earth with no opposition, and your Prime assignments required little to no combat requirements. Post Surge you’ve done, er, nothing. I hate to say it Prime, you’re my friend and all, but you’re really just as new to this as Blackarachnia.’

Blackarachnia nodded solemnly. ‘Even then… Unlike me, you haven’t really contributed, well, anything to your respective side of the war effort.’

Optimus raised his head, his optics were glowing a bright white. ‘You’re saying I haven’t accomplished anything of note in my life?’

He didn’t get a response.

                ‘Read my lips.’ Optimus leaned forward, making his point clear. ‘I. killed. Megatron.’ He leaned back. ‘Don’t ever tell me that I didn’t accomplish anything in the war. Not ever. What I did—it _has_ to have paid off, it has…’

                ‘That reminds me…’ Optimus continued. ‘Neither of you have said a word about what I did back on that asteroid field... As far as I can tell, neither of you want to tell me about how you feel about it.’

Neither robot answered, nor did either want to. Ironhide waited for Blackarachnia to answer and vice versa.

                ‘I’m not one to talk about “feelings” and such but… You want to know?’ Blackarachnia shifted in place. ‘I don’t care. I met Megatron once, before the process… I didn’t particularly like him, but I didn’t hate him either. Doesn’t matter now. He’s not my boss…’ She blinked, as if coming to finally realize something. ‘And neither are you.’

She whipped her head around to face the Seacons. ‘Oi! One Decepticon to another… let me out.’

Snaptrap groaned and lazily rose from his command chair, his crimson optics reflecting the overhead light as his lids parted. ‘You’re an idiot for assuming that’s going to work.’

                ‘And you’re an idiot for suggesting it _can’t._ I’m a Decepticon. My name is drone unit ARA-003 – Self Designation: Blackarachnia. I was plastered on the DJD’s kill list for heavily wounding Air Commander Starscream in a manner of self-defence. I’ve been held prisoner by Megatron’s killer since and have co-operated in order to ensure my own protection from Autobot and Decepticon alike.’

Snaptrap approached the cell, literally shadowing Blackarachnia from his height alone. ‘So what? How is that supposed to make me want to free you?’

Optimus’s optics widened with hatred. ‘Yes Blackarachnia… how.’

                ‘It means I’m on your side.’ Blackarachnia explained. ‘I may be on the DJD’s list, but half of the Decepticon army has their name scribed somewhere on there as well. Release me, and I’ll go my separate way. I’ve no reason to bunt heads with you unless you force me to.’

                ‘You’re abandoning us?!’ Optimus outraged.

                ‘These Autobots…’ Blackarachnia remained fixated on Snaptrap, motioning to the kneeling robots with her shoulder. ‘They have done nothing for me. I’ve been treated –quite fittingly actually— as a prisoner, and whenever I tried to express myself I am consistently shut-down and insulted by the black one. The only reason I didn’t leave them was because if anyone came to kill me, I’d be able to use these two as shields.’

Snaptrap remained unconvinced. ‘And what convinces you that I shouldn’t just kill you instead.’

Blackarachnia flickered a grin. ‘Because if you were planning to kill me we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

Snarling, the Seacon captain retreated to his command chair across from the cell, slumping into it with crossed arms and an irritating foot tap.

                ‘Sir?’ Scylla questioned, extending a servo to her commanding officer. ‘We’re uh… gonna kill her right?’

Snaptrap bit down on the tips of his fingers, shaking his head numbly. ‘No. That’s not who we are. I’ve grown past butchering. I’m done with that, I—I’m certain that I’m done with _that._ ’

                ‘You don’t think we could at least see how much she’ll sell on the market?’ Overbite wondered.

                ‘If you do…’ Blackarachnia answered, her voice crisp with blunt honesty. ‘…then it will be the Decepticons who retrieve me, and you won’t get a dime. Why’s that? Because it is your _job_!’

Snaptrap slammed his fist against the monitor like a spoiled child, brandishing a finger towards his cohorts. ‘Fine, do you want to do the honours Scylla? Do you Archerbot? That’s what I thought. Nobody in their right mind wants to murder one of their own. Nobody _sane_.’ He snapped his fingers at Seawing. ‘Let her go… she’s not the one we need. We’ll sell the black one.’

                ‘And hurry it up.’ Blackarachnia snapped. ‘I’ll self-destruct and take the Prime down with me if I’m not out of here within half a minute.’

Seawing opened the cell’s doors, ushering the kneeling Blackarachnia out of the makeshift cage before locking it shut once more and unhooking the stasis-cuffs around her wrists.

Blackarachnia rose to her feet, massaging her wrists fractiously. ‘Better.’

Optimus’s glared at Blackarachnia through the cage’s bars. His optics filled with murderous intent. ‘This is the part where you break _us_ free. Right?’

Blackarachnia scoffed. ‘You are dumber than I thought if you really expected this to have a happy ending.’ She made a brief waving gesture before exiting the room. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to take great care of your Ark while you’re dead. That said, later losers.’

Even after she was long gone, Ironhide wouldn’t quell his voice.

                ‘You spineless two-timing, glitch! I’m going to rip you apart and crack your skull against the floor when I’m out of here. When I’m out of here I’ll kill you!’

Ironhide’s breath was hot and violent against the cages cold metal as he pressed his forehead against it’s bars, creating creases in his helm.

                ‘You were right.’ Optimus admitted. ‘I shouldn’t have placed so much trust in her. Ironhide I… I’m sorry.’

Ironhide shook his head, his head still connected to the cages bars. ‘You wouldn’t have known. I should’ve— I don’t know. I was… unfair. Maybe.’ The black and red Autobot sighed. ‘I think I know what you meant. Maybe I always knew and just— I hate Blackarachnia, I hate her a lot, but when I ask myself why I hate her, it’s because she’s a Decepticon, and that she killed a bunch of Autobots.’ He turned himself around and slouched against the cybertanium bars. ‘But… the thing is, I’m an Autobot, and I’ve killed a bunch of Decepticons. I could have killed her best friend and I’d never know it. I don’t know what to say Optimus, Decepticons are nothing but thugs and maniacs but maybe… I don’t know.’ He crinkled his brow. ‘It’s so easy to see the universe in black and white Prime. _So_ easy. But grey?’ He shivered, staring at his hands as if he were holding some strange, alien object. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with grey.’

                ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Optimus leaned against the cell’s back-wall, adjacent from Ironhide and his nose to the ceiling. ‘I thought I could trust Blackarachnia, I thought I could trust Snaptrap, hell, there was a time long ago that I thought Megatron was a good guy.’ For the first time in a long time, Optimus let out a genuine laugh. ‘And I’ve been wrong at every turn… I just might be the galaxies most gullible idiot… maybe I should have listened to Prowl.’

Ironhide didn’t make a sound, digging his face into his chest plating as he slouched further.

                ‘That reminds me.’ Optimus said, breaking the silence once more. ‘Blackarachnia gave me her answer, but you didn’t say a word. What do you think, Ironhide? Of me killing Megatron I mean.’

Ironhide sighed, shifting his body uncomfortably. ‘Megatron was a bastard—a tyrant who slaughtered billions. If there was one being in this entire Universe that deserved an ass-kicking, it would be him. In fact, part of me wishes that I was the one to do the deed.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That said, no, I don’t like it.’

Optimus would be lying if he said it was the response he was expecting, but an argument was the last thing he wanted. ‘Fair enough. Why?’

                ‘How do I put it…?’ Ironhide wondered, his faceplate shifting as he thought. ‘I did and saw a lot these past twenty years, Optimus. I’ve experienced things I’ll never share. Ever.’

                ‘… You sure you don’t want to talk about—‘

                ‘EVER. Not the point I’m trying to make, Prime. I was forced to make some big decisions these past twenty years, and whenever I had to make them, I asked myself something: What would Optimus do in this situation? It’s silly I know, but… I’ll be honest with you Prime, I’m not always right in the head…’

                ‘Really?’ Optimus’s optics drooped unimpressed. ‘I would have never guessed…’

                ‘Shut up man… Look, I am prone to violent outbursts. I’m not pretending I don’t know that… and I know I’m reckless and— and I’m not—I mean, I suck at decision making. You on the other hand with your constant bravery and stupidly overenthusiastic speeches… Even if they were empty at the time, they worked. Since then I’ve seen you as a – ah—a moral compass.’

                ‘You think my speeches are stupid?’

                ‘But what you did, Prime, it’s… I don’t know.’

                ‘You think my speeches are stupid?’

                ‘Focus. It goes against everything I know about you and yet…’ Ironhide shook his head. ‘It’s not like you, and that scares me.’ The black Autobot paused, unsure of whether he had gotten his point across or not.

                  ‘… Do you regret it?’

                ‘Do I regret it?’ Optimus cracked a sorrowful grin. ‘I don’t know. I think so. Yes. I’ve felt like crap ever since I pulled the trigger. I still can’t believe what I’ve done to be honest, and yet the scene—the memory, it keeps replaying in my head like some vastly annoying song. Killing someone, I mean—we’re hard to kill, our race. You can be engulfed in an explosion, get decapitated, have a spaceship dropped on us, and yet there’s still a chance… there’s still a handful sized chance that you might still survive. I tell myself I’ve killed before, during my assignments with Nightbeat and Swoop… during the surge, but I don’t think I’ll ever really know whether I killed them or just messed them up badly. Besides, that was different; they shot back, you don’t have a choice in that kind of situation or environment.’

Ironhide nodded in agreement. The black Autobot was no longer slouched against the bars, his head now propped upwards as he listened with intent.

                ‘I had a choice with Megatron.’ He continued, optics shut. ‘He was wounded, bad. I could have carried him back to the Ark to take as prisoner, but I didn’t, I reacted and shot him down. I shot him until I was certain he was dead. I like to think what I did was right, that it could prevent future harm… but when I try to convince myself of this… I end up sounding like...’ He sighed once more, opening his optics. ‘I hate it Ironhide, I feel sick. Not just ill-sick, I mean—I feel like a sick person, like I’m all… wrong inside. I keep trying to convince myself otherwise, but when I do… I sound like Prowl.’ He placed his full attention on the dark weapons specialist and smiled. ‘And that, Ironhide, is how I became an insomniac.’

Ironhide huffed. ‘I see… hold on.’ Kicking off the ground, Ironhide jutted forward, landing on top of Optimus. Their heads locked over each-other’s shoulders.

                ‘Ah! Ironhide what the hell?! I am not into this!’

                ‘ _Quiet._ ’ Ironhide whispered. ‘ _Listen to me carefully, they’ll be finished with the feed any minute now…’_

_‘You have a plan?’_

_‘Damn right I do. The stasis cuffs make it hard, but I can sprint, and so can you. When they open the door to kill you, I’ll jump at them or tackle them, or whatever.’_

_‘Ironhide. No.’_

_‘When I do, run.’_

_‘They’ll kill you.’_

_‘I don’t care. My armors sturdier, I’ll last longer than you, besides, Prowl might find a use for your notoriety; ‘use it for good.’_

_‘Ironhide you’re not sacrificing yourself for me. God you’re so clingy, creepy and emotional today, what is with you?’_

_‘I don’t care. I’m jumping at them, and if we both die, so be it. I’m not going to abandon you today.’_

The Seacons comm-screen fizzled into activation and Soundwave’s hologram rematerialized faster than it took to blink.

Optimus struggled with himself, he wanted to shout at his old friend, he wanted to hit him across the face, but he couldn’t vocalize a word.

                ‘ _Oh forget it. Do what you want Ironhide. I’ve no better ideas.’_

                ‘Times up.’ Soundwave announced, nodding his head to the feed. ‘Get it done.’

Grinning beneath his faceplate, Snaptrap turned to face the camera. ‘Bring him here…’

Seawing opened the cell, reaching inside. ‘Come now… Prime.’ His spoke his name with sickening distaste.

                ‘RAAAAAAARRRRGH!’ Ironhide sprung forward, shoulders tensed and his arms flexed outward as he tackled the unsuspecting Seawing to the ground. ‘Run Prime! Run!’

Doing just that, Optimus sprinted to the end of the cell, violently elbowing Nautilator aside before ducking past Scylla’s tentacle, nearing the exit.

Soundwave’s visor glowed. ‘Everyone, shut off your audio receptors, now!’ The speakers on the monitor lit up, and a crackling screech boomed from the ship’s audio-system. The noise tore into Prime’s audio-receptors. His sight gone, the sound vibrated through him to the bone. Optical filaments caved in on themselves and retinas dilated and buzzed. Bones cracked and stiffened as his body squirmed and lashed out on the floor like a fish on land. Before he knew it, Prime was on his stomach, liquid drizzling from every port on his face and head. He pushed against the ground, darting his optics until his vision returned. When it did, his optics were set on Ironhide, a hole smoking from his back and his optics dimming to grey.

                ‘Run Prime… run.’

Prime felt a heavy weight press against his back, forcing his chest into the floor. ‘It’s your time now.’

Dragging the groggy Prime on to his knees, Snaptrap snapped at the others and they formed a pathway to the monitor.

A lax, young, voice echoed from the other end of the call. ‘You’re welcome.’

                ‘ _Thank_ _you_ , Frenzy.’ Soundwave nodded offhandedly. ‘We’re live.’

                ‘Good.’ Snaptrap lifted Prime by his collar, putting him in the camera’s view. ‘I, Snaptrap of Planet Barbarossa, hereby announce that Optimus Prime, murderer of Lord High Protector Megatron, has fallen into my custody.’

\-----

The message traveled off through space, snapping into visual across nearly every tele-screen of every Decepticon colony, ship and quarry. From Soundwave’s perspective, New Kaon’s city lights were drowned out by the flashing tele-screens hooked atop the tall, glistening Sky-Scrapers that flooded the city.

Millions of Decepticons stopped in their tracks, pausing on the sidewalk and breaking in their lanes as their attention drew to the flashing pictures across the plateau.

_‘Megatron’s death was painful for most of us, and I am certain that he will be missed, however, his killer, Optimus Prime has fallen.’_

Among the Decepticons staring at the broadcast was a dark blue and black robot with a thin red visor that stretched across his face. The Decepticon grabbed another by the shoulder, violently squeezing until he got the attention he wanted.

                ‘Breakdown, let me ask you something.’

The paranoid robot reacted with a yelp, remaining unhinged in the presence of the Decepticon.

                ‘Oh it’s… it’s you, what do you want?’

                ‘What do you think of this? This bounty… who do you think will be in command by the end of the cycle?’

Breakdown wrinkled his face in thought. ‘To be honest Counterpunch? When the bounty for leadership is won by a pirate, I’m pretty much stumped.’

Counterpunch’s visor gleamed. ‘Then I guess we’ll just have to wait and see now won’t we?’

\-----

In a pit-stop within the Falcon Nexus, Strika and Obsidian loaded up for the brigade’s next outing as Thundercracker worked on the technology from Skywarp’s container. On the other side of the stop, Starscream sat in a fold-out chair that he had packed in case he grew tired of standing, his optics were fixated on the tele-screen, his legs curled into his chest as he chewed on the tip of his thumb.

                ‘Obsidian… Obsidian!’

The dark green and grey robot craned his head to Starscream’s direction. Taking a moment to instruct Thundercracker to take his place, Obsidian hovered over to Starscream’s location, his spindly fingers tangled behind his back.

                ‘What seems to be the problem Star… scream?’

The Decepticon jet pointed a digit at the screen.

                _‘With the discretion of Commander Soundwave, I have been granted the choice for future Decepticon leadership. Upon slaying the Prime of course.’_

Starscream’s face was narrowed and sullen with distress, his optics bugged out as he shook his head, slouching into his fold-out chair. ‘This is not good.’

\-----

In the far north corner of Decepticon space, on the planet Lucifer, a thin silver and purple Decepticon with a pair of goggle-like optics watched the main-vid screen.

_‘And while I am aware many of you are ignorant to the fact, I must persist. This was no easy feat…’_

The silver Decepticon’s optics traced up the tall velvet staircase and towards his leader’s throne. Sitting in his crimson and gold chair was a dark-navy blue and silver robot, lined and adorned with crimson highlights that glowed hotly from within his outer frame. The nearly obese robot was slumped in his throne, his oddly formed mouth crooked into a half-open deadpan and his retina’s directed slightly upward. Often, the silver and purple Decepticon: Tankor, wondered whether the throne-sitting Decepticon were still living or not. But when given the state of the planet, and the rate of executions personally carried by the Decepticon.

                ‘Lord Straxus.’ Tankor spoke. ‘What are we to make of this?’

The warlord’s optical lids lowered, his chest expanding in exhalation. His voice rasped as his mouth jagged in position. ‘Change the channel…’

\-----

Snaptrap wasted no time goading his captive, pressing his face against the screen until the Prime’s cheeks started to burn. ‘You see?’ the Seacon continued. ‘This is the face of the killer! This! But not for long. Do you see me Cannonball? Do you see what I have here? I HOLD THE WORLD!’ Snaptrap’s blade escaped his wrist, fitting into his grasp like a dagger. ‘You always liked to brag, well now it’s my turn! You failed every time Cannonball! You excused it for being difficult! Well, let me show you how easy it really is to achieve power!’

Snaptrap thrusted his blade inward on Optimus, tearing through clean-metal.

His metal.

Snaptrap’s blade had stabbed through his own arm.

Optimus, -- as well as Ironhide, Scylla, Seawing, Archerbot, Overbite and Nautilator – were no longer in the same place as they were before. Nearly all their bodies were slammed face-first into the far right wall of the room. The ship quaked, the force of which sent their bodies flying back.

                ‘No!’ ignoring the tremors crackling through his ship, Snaptrap burst forward, carelessly pulling his blade from the small fissure in his arm before violently swiping at the air in front of the Prime without any form of co-ordination in mind. ‘Get back here Autobot! Get back here NOW!’

                ‘Sir!’ Nautilator tried to convey his voice, but was drowned out by the deafening rumbles of the ship. ‘Sir, we’re under attack!’ Even if he was audible, Nautilator doubted Snaptrap would listen to him as he slashed his sword at the stumbling Prime.

The pink blade nearing his face, Optimus spun around, moving his arms so that Snaptrap’s blade connected with his wrists, destroying the stasis-cuffs and peeling a chunk of skin and metal from his servos.

                ‘You’re mine!’ Snaptrap asserted, reaching forward with his free-hand.

                ‘Guess Ironhide’s not the only one who’s clingy.’ Optimus said before dealing a punch to Snaptrap’s faceplate, buffing the metal and twisting it to the point of needed repairs. Snaptrap went soaring back, the rocking ship tilting and sending him tumbling out of the room and down the hallway.

Free, Optimus jogged towards Ironhide, running a hand over the Autobots thick shoulder. ‘Come on ‘Hide, you’ve got to wake up. I need your help.’

After a moment of nothing, Ironhide let out a groan and Optimus sighed in relief. ‘Thank Primus. Now get up you big oaf.’

                ‘Five more minutes…’ Ironhide sighed.

                ‘You can sleep later, _move!’_

Dragging the wounded Autobot along the slanted room, Overbite leaped forward, roaring as he attempted to tackle the two Autobots. As if on instinct, Ironhide pointed his cannon and fired a bolt through the shark-former’s chest.  Clearing a path out of the room.

As the two Autobots escaped into the hallway, Scylla raised a tentacle and pulled the stunned Archerbot onto his feet. ‘Come now you bunch of space-dogs, it’s time to deploy our defences!’ She pushed Seawing aside and prompted the rest of her comrades to stand. ‘On your feet! Let’s head to the poop-deck, Snaptrap’s gonna need us!’

Overbite giggled. ‘Heheh. Poop.’

\-----

Optimus and Ironhide sprinted through the pirate ship’s halls on the tips of their feet as explosions rippled and burned throughout the ships upper decks, breaking down beams of circuitry and metal and gushing sparks from the loose electrical blockage in the upper decks.

                ‘What’s going on?’ Optimus wondered aloud. ‘I’m thankful for the save and all, but do you think we’re dealing with friends? Or foes?’

                ‘Uhh…’ Ironhide barely had time to think as he did his best to keep up with the Prime. ‘Don’t know.’

                ‘Wait…’ Optimus reached for his communicator and raised it to the side of his head. ‘I am opening a channel frequency… Hello? This is Optimus Prime sending an open message to—to whoever is firing upon this ship, might I ask for a name?’

The speaker fizzled and cracked as a voice came through. _‘A name? Well, they call me… Megatron.’_

Optimus made a wide eyed expression towards Ironhide.

                _‘…Nah, I’m just messing with you. It’s me. Rodimus.’_

Optimus slapped himself in the head. ‘Geez Rodimus, you have no idea how inappropriate that joke is right now, like, seriously, way to get on my nerves. I’m really mad now.’

The two Autobots jogged up a staircase, finding themselves standing outside atop the _Poseidon’s_ top deck. Doing circles above them was the Lost Light, its cannons firing upon them wickedly.

Optimus raised the communicator back to his lips. ‘Rodimus, can you hear me? I thought you said you wouldn’t come back here for another day or so—how’d you know when to return for us?’

                _‘We were given an educated hint.’_

From behind the Lost Light came a second, equally large spaceship. Its gold rims shining brightly against the reflective light of ricocheting laser-fire.

A second voice crackled to life through Prime’s communicator. _‘What’s up losers?’_

                Optimus stared at his ship as it spun around them, its weaponry ablaze in a barrage of missile and machine-gun fire. ‘The Ark! But—‘

                ‘We thought you abandoned us!’ Ironhide suspected, his head whirling from Prime to the Ark in bewilderment.

Blackarachnia waved at them from the pilot seat. ‘I figured it wouldn’t hurt to return with some sweet backup. Besides, it’s not every day I get to play the hero.’

Ironhide chuckled, grinning widely at Optimus. ‘“Hero”? Did she really just refer to herself as a –heh—“hero”?’

Optimus batted a hand at Ironhide as he shifted his faceplate into gear. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up for a second Ironhide. Check the perimeter for—‘

                ‘PRIIIIIME!’ Snaptrap grappled Optimus to the floor of the ship’s deck. Grabbing and slashing at him with his bare fingers. ‘You don’t win this, you will not live through this! Never!’

                ‘Yeah?’ The large wheels on Primes back began to spin, screeching against the floor before sending him rolling on his back through the space between Snaptrap’s legs. Activating his axe, Optimus span it in his wrist for momentum before jumping upward and thrusting the edge of it into Snaptrap. The Butcher of the Bogs reacted, spinning around and slamming his blade into the Axe’s hilt—a shockwave of pink flame and orange light blasting outward from the force of the connection.

Letting Optimus follow through, Snaptrap ducked from the Primes attack and retreated backwards, fingering the attacking spaceships around him and shouting at the top of his lungs. ‘MAN THE STERN-THRUSTERS! FIRE THE MASS CANNONS!’

From within the ship, Nautilator followed his commands, rotating the ship vertically until the large cylindrical cannons on the port faced the Lost Light. Within each of the nooks from which the tips of the cannons peaked from, Overbite and Seawing locked their servos into them. On the main deck, Archerbot and Scylla arrived, somersaulting forward and firing their integrated weaponry at the Lost Light.

Countering the Prime’s attack, Snaptrap raised two digits above his head. ‘ _FIRE!’_

Seawing and Overbite pulled back on each of the cannons and from each shot a massive cylindrical block that crashed into the opposing ship, leaving the Lost Light riddled with massive holes. One cannon shot nailed the Lost Light’s underbelly, severing a thruster and setting it ablaze.

                ‘Dammit!’ Rodimus cursed from his captain’s chair. The young Prime made a moving gesture to the robots behind him and dashed forward. ‘Go! Go! Go! We’re joining this fight!’

A large panel opened on the Lost Light’s starboard and Skids, Firestar, Flareup and Drift dived out.

                Rodimus waited in the Lost Light’s exit way as he gave his order. “Drift! Helicopter mode!’

Transforming midair, Drift shifted and overlapped into a sleek, white and blue Cybertronian helicopter. Rodimus leaped forward, grabbing hold of the copters railing with one hand and activating his integrated weaponry with the other. Enthralled, Rodimus began chanting a dramatic tune as he fired upon the Seacons from the air. ‘Dundundun DUN dun dundundun DUN dun dundundun DUN dun dundundundDUN!’

His shots piercing Archerbot’s armor, Ironhide took the Seacon by surprise and swung his cannon like a mallet into the unsuspecting robots face. Before he could deal another blow however, Overbite and Seawing had dragged him to the ground like a pair of rugby players. Massaging his left eye-lid, Archerbot activated a bow and arrow from his wrist compartment and fired a bolt at Rodimus’s direction, the arrow clipped Rodimus’s hand, forcing the Prime to let go and somersault onto the ship.

Archerbot tapped the side of his head and spoke. ‘This is Scalor, scratch one.’

                ‘Scalor?!’ Scylla stopped to stare at the Seacon. ‘Who’s Scalor? Your name’s Archerbot.’

Scalor sighed. ‘I never said my name was Archerbot, you all just called me that because I use a bow and arrow.’

                ‘Then why have you never corrected any of us before?!’

He sighed again. ‘Because whenever I say my name is Scalor, One of you always says—‘

                ‘SCALOR?! MORE LIKE FAILOR!’ Nautilator laughed as he cowered behind a large metal barrel.

Before Scalor could sigh a third time, Rodimus had already jogged up to him and punched him in the face, knocking him out indefinitely before grabbing his bow and using it to fire upon Scylla and Overbite. ‘Firestar! Flareup! Combine!’

The twins nodded. Leaping into the air and transforming, their backs connecting together into one as their limbs separated and pointed forward. After a moment of engine buzz, the sisters fired a massive barrage of flames that torched the ship’s deck, setting Nautilator and Seawing momentarily ablaze.

Snaptrap grinned beneath his faceplate as he deflected another swing from Prime’s axe. ‘Combine huh? I like the way you Autobots think.’ He rolled into the center of the ship, tendrils emerging from his pores. ‘Seacons! Form the Piranacon Armor—Now!’ Doing as he said, Scylla, Seawing, Scalor/Archerbot and Overbite leaped for him, their carcasses opening outward and overlapping until reaching the precise measurements. Falling onto his hands and knees, Snaptrap felt the weight of four other bodies merge overtop him as he sensed himself growing bigger. As Piranacon, Snaptrap caught a glimpse of the sheer shock on his foes faces from above. His pillar-like legs shaking as he caught his balance. There wasn’t as much room for him to stand as when he was smaller.

Nautilator peeked from under his barrel. ‘We’re going to need a bigger boat…’

                ‘I’ll tear my own ship apart if it means ending you!’ Piranacon roared as he dropped his fist into his ship’s deck—tearing a hole clean through it and sending light pulses of pink light crackling and shredding from within.

Swallowing his doubts, Rodimus extended a dominant finger towards the gestalt. ‘Open fire!’

Skids, Firestar and Flareup fired all they had at the armored being. Piranacon shrugged off the laser fire before drop kicking the twins combined form and aiming for Prime.

Backing away, Optimus activated his comm unit as Ironhide covered him. ‘Blackarachnia?’

_‘I’m already pressing every single button with a weapon symbol on it. And—ah!’_

‘You got it?’

Barreling around for another strafe, the Ark dimmed its flames as it came to face Piranacon nose first. The Ark expanded and unfolded as rows of red-tipped missiles, and columns of massive rotating Gatling guns flipped outward, all aimed at the gestalt.

Blackarachnia grinned a sadistic grin as she pressed the “unload” button. ‘Suck it.’

The Gatling guns roared as lead shot out and dug into Piranacon’s armored plating. Ruptured specs of oil flicked off of the combiners frame as he blocked the attack with his crossed arms. Upon receiving a hit from the Ark’s missiles. Piranacon tumbled backwards, his right arm dislodging from its joint and separating from the gestalt’s main body entirely.

                ‘Good!’ crouching into a balancing stance, Optimus pointed the edge of his axe towards Piranacon. ‘Now fire! Fire everything you’ve got!’

                _‘Actually…’_ A grin curled upon Blackarachnia’s lips. _‘I have a better idea.’_ The spider tapped at the Autopilot controls, leaving the Ark’s command chair and running to the docking bay.

Optimus squinted as the ship glided towards the pirate juggernaut. ‘She isn’t…’

Ironhide huffed exhaustedly. ‘She is…’

A panel on the Ark’s belly spread itself open, and the small figure of Blackarachnia leaped out, landing on the _Poseidon_ below. The Ark spiraled forward, crashing through Piranacon nose-first – the force literally tearing the brute apart limb from limb. The Ark –on autopilot—tore through the giant’s body before circling back nearly unscathed. Piranacon grasped at the newly formed hole in his chest only for his arm to crumble and detach. Fed up, the giant split apart, each piece changing back into their Individual components. Snaptrap however, finding it difficult to properly reassemble into a humanoid form, found himself rolling over the edge of his ship and plummeting into the wrecked facility below. His body disappearing into the Darkness.

Realizing he was one off, Optimus jogged to the space where Snaptrap fell.

                ‘Optimus!’ Rodimus grabbed his shoulder from behind. ‘Optimus, you’re wounded you need to…’

                ‘I need to what, Rodimus?’

He pointed at Drift as he hovered above them in helicopter mode. ‘GET TO DA CHOPPAH.’

Optimus laughed. ‘Okay that was pretty great, I’ve got to give you a high-five for that.’

The two Primes slapped their hands together, prompting an eye roll from Ironhide and Drift as they sobered their attitudes once again.

                ‘But seriously Optimus, you’re in no position to fight.’

                ‘You have other matters to worry about.’ Prime motioned to the recuperating Seacons who began to transform into their beast modes. Ahead of the others, Overbite formed into a shark and utilized his back-thrusters to shoot himself at Skids, digging his jaws into the theoreticians shoulder.

                ‘Manage your team. Ironhide and Blackarachnia will have your back while I’m gone. As for me? Snaptrap and I have some unfinished business.’

Before Rodimus could protest, Optimus had already leaped off the side of the ship and disappeared into the darkness below.

                ‘Well now he’s just showing off.’ Rodimus looked away from the ship’s edge to survey the battle. ‘Looks like all that’s left for us is some—‘

Without warning, Scylla’s tentacle pierced through Rodimus’s stomach, digging clean through his body and out the other side.

\-----

Landing on his knees was not Prime’s greatest idea. He could have sworn they had cracked open upon hitting the floor as pain rifled up his thighs and spine. Spitting at the ground, Optimus lifted himself to his feet and secured his faceplate. His optics slowly dragged from one side to the other as he surveyed the empty hallway. Snaptrap was nowhere in sight, but the location itself was familiar.

                ‘Yeah… we passed through here earlier… which means that thing should be—‘

Optimus felt a massive weight on his shoulders, though it didn’t take long for him to determine what the weight was.

                ‘You’re dead now, Prime!’ Snaptrap spat into his audio receptor as he strangled Prime to the floor.

Optimus struggled, scratching at his attacker’s lower arm as he squirmed. ‘Not yet.’

Prime backed his head into Snaptrap’s face, causing the Seacon warrior to snarl in pain and weaken his grip. Transforming, Optimus revved his engine and screeched down the dark passageway, the lights from the battle above guiding his way.

Unseen, Nautilator dropped down from above. Wincing as pain traveled up his legs.

                ‘Snaptrap, sir, I’m here to help I—‘

The pirate captain grabbed his subordinate by the collar, lifting the confused robot off his feet and looking him dead in the optic. ‘Do not interfere. Nautilator, you can utilize the feed remotely yeah? Then use it. Film my pride.’ Tossing Nautilator aside, Snaptrap transformed into his giant metallic snapping turtle mode. An eerie growl escaped his beak. ‘Film my immortalization.’

\-----

                ‘Keep up the fire!’ Ironhide ordered, taking shots on Scalor’s large fish mode as it threw Skids’ wounded body aside.

Transforming into robot mode, Drift dropped on top of Scalor, stabbing the mass-displaced robot in the back with a silver blade. The large creature slapped at his attacker only to receive another face full of cannon-fire, knocking him into stasis indefinitely.

From the smoke, Drift leaped off of his opponent, landing gracefully next to Ironhide on his pedes.

Ironhide wasted no time firing on Overbite. ‘Three left. No time to rest.’

                ‘Drift…!’

Facing the direction of the cry, Drift’s optics widened to see Rodimus pinned to the ground. Scylla had dug a tentacle into his back, Energon leaking upward and spilling out.

Drift’s face morphed into a look of anguish. Flicking his blade with Energon, Drift charged the femme. Before she could react, Drift was on top of her, digging a pair of blades into her shoulders.

                ‘I’ll kill you!’

It did not take long for Scylla’s face to change from a maniacal grin to a look of terror. Pulling backwards, Drift’s swords cut cleanly through Scylla’s armor, severing her arms from her torso completely.

Crying out, the squid fell on her aft, backing away from the raging Autobot. ‘Please! Have Mercy!’

Holding his sword like a spear, Drift swung his arm and launched it, nailing it into Scylla’s chest. As the Decepticon cried out, Drift pulled out his other blade and raised it high above his head, stabbing it down into Scylla’s stomach long after she fell into stasis.

Locked in mid-fight with Seawing, Blackarachnia’s attention was dragged away from the fight due to Drift’s brutality. ‘Whoa, slow down Maurice, what’s the deal with—‘

Shaking his head. Drift lifted his blade and bowed swiftly to Blackarachnia. ‘Sorry, I was—I don’t know what came over me.’ The Autobot turned away and moved on towards Rodimus hastily.

                ‘I know those moves… scary how violent people can be.’

                ‘You should pay attention more.’ Seawing noted, firing a shot into the spiders shoulder. ‘Thought you were one of us.’

Blackarachnia sneered, activating her blades and rotating them left of her body, the blades slashed into Seawing’s arm, slicing it off before digging into his waist. ‘Let me be perfectly clear Seawing… You got lucky last time. But now…’ Blackarachnia leaped upwards, volleying over Seawing’s torso and landing behind him. She thrusted forwards, her blades cleaving through the Seacons torso and out his chest. ‘I’ve put myself back together.’ Blackarachnia’s blades ripped outwards, tearing the Seacon’s torso in half. Wires and tubes reached towards each-other from inside Seawing’s chest as oil sprayed inward. His head landed in Blackarachnia’s palm, still functional.

                ‘Well that was easy.’ Blackarachnia looked out towards Drift as he knelt next to Rodimus. Her brow furrowed as she tossed Seawing’s severed head into the air. ‘But man… some people are just sickly violent. It’s scary.’

Drift ran a finger across the small of Rodimus’ back. ‘This was my fault… I couldn’t protect you.’

Suddenly, Rodimus pushed off of the ground, gasping for air.

Drift stammered backwards. ‘Rodimus? You’re—‘

                ‘Alive?’ Rodimus chuckled, rising to his feet. ‘No one ever dies on my ship Drift, and that includes me!’

                ‘Technically sir, we’re not on the Lost Light’

Rodimus laughed. ‘Shut up Drift! This is no time to question my Prime magic! This is the time to beat people up!’

Charging past Drift, Rodimus fired his wrist cannon at the thrashing Overbite, nailing him directly in the eyes. The floating shark transformed into his gangly robot mode and landed on his feet, his optics flaring as Rodimus came within a foot of him. ‘You!’

Laughing menacingly, Rodimus jabbed a finger at the broad-shouldered Seacon. ‘Next you’re gonna say: “You have a gaping hole in your stomach, how the hell are you standing?!”’

                ‘You have a gaping hole in your stomach, how the hell are you standing?!’

Gasping in shock, Overbite found himself backing away from the smaller Autobot only for a sharp object to tear into his lower spine. It was Blackarachnia, her blades digging deeper into the Decepticons torso. Before he could grab her, Ironhide had already tackled him from the side. Gripping on to his shoulder and firing a barrage from his cannons, sending chunks of Overbite’s arms and chest erupting out from his body, a spray of black and violet viscera following it.

                ‘Wait! Wait…’ Overbite raised his hands above his head, barely staying conscious. ‘I surrender! …I surrender.’

Rodimus lowered his guard. ‘Um, guys? I had him.’

Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head as Ironhide and Skids fitted Overbite with a pair of stasis-cuffs. ‘Oh.’ The former Decepticon didn’t see amused. ‘Sorry, we had already dealt and locked up the other three so… well, we didn’t want to stay bored.’

                ‘What Blackarachnia means to say,’ Ironhide stood up from Overbite, nodding towards the rest of Rodimus’s crew before finished his trail of thought. ‘Is that we won.’

\-----

                ‘You lose!’ Snaptrap’s shell tackled into Optimus’ rib, forcing the Prime onto his knees. Snaptrap uncurled from his shell, forming as a massive robotic Snapping turtle.

He was so close, mere metres away from Prime was the door. The door to the lit room. The one that’s contents had somehow wiped Ironhide and Blackarachnia’s minds of it. Optimus was far from questioning the nature of the door as at the time he had far more important things to worry about. Forced on his back, Optimus found himself faced with the scaled, jagged face of a giant robotic snapping turtle. Optimus couldn’t lay a single hit on the dominating beast, his hands too busy keeping the creature’s maw from biting off his nose.

                ‘Face it Prime, I am the one with the physical prowess here. I was taught the hardships of war as a mere protoform, I was trained under one of the highest Decepticon generals turned pirate legends, and I have obtained the ultimate armor enhancements and circuit boosters that had turned me into the legendary Butcher of the Bogs. You are nothing, the only reason you have succeeded in overcoming me before was due to the assistance from your lackey. Now, as the weights balance I can properly dominate you without any such interference.’

Realizing he was without a response, Snaptrap wagged his head side to side, freeing himself of Optimus’ grip. Spying the Primes loosened fingers, Snaptrap shut his diamond shaped mouth. Clenching them around Optimus’ digits with a sickening crunch. Screaming out in agony, Optimus pulled away, his fingers tearing from their respective knuckles. The stringy remains of bone-structure and metal wiring were all that remained from the gushing sever in his hand. Prime grabbed at his wrist, yelling as he tried to piece his dangling pinky-finger back together.

                ‘Primus Snaptrap!’ Optimus cursed as the turtle chewed and swallowed down three of his remaining digits. ‘I thought you were _done_ with butchering.’

Despite his mouth formed as a beak-like apparatus Snaptrap’s turtle-head had managed to grin, ‘When I receive your bounty, when I win, who will care what people think of me? The end is always more important than the means Prime. But you know that. I’m sure you knew that when you killed Megatron.’

His faceplate hid it, but Prime’s teeth were bared in fury.

                ‘When you’re dead, I’ll be recognized throughout the Galaxy as one of the Warriors Elite – My name treasured and immortalized, recognized in the same breath as the likes of Galvatron and Dreadlock. When _my_ name is immortal, when the name of Snaptrap outlives the name of Cannonball, then I will never be forgotten again!’

Optimus’s brow wrinkled. ‘Perhaps Snaptrap, perhaps you’ll be remembered, perhaps this entire Galaxy will remember you until the end of time. But that leaves me with just one question.’

                ‘Alright… indulge me. Shoot.’

                ‘Will you remember yourself?’

Curling inward, Optimus rolled backwards, placing his feet underneath Snaptrap’s chest. Rolling further, Optimus kicked upwards, sending Snaptrap’s body over his head and behind him, his body crashing through the door of light. Snaptrap struggled and transformed into his robot mode as he grabbed at his own skull. Standing, Optimus sealed the door, trapping Snaptrap inside the brightly lit room.

He waited.

He listened.

Snaptrap pounded lightly on the door and Optimus let him out. What came out was not the powerful butcher of the bogs that had nearly killed him moments before, but that of a small, wide-eyed child. Snaptrap still retained his physique, but the look on his faceplate was far from that of a butcher.

The Seacon edged towards Optimus, crawling on his knees, his fingers intertwined and jittering. ‘Why… why am I hurting?’

Optimus did not answer.

Snaptrap’s head darted down the corridor and back. ‘Where’s mister Cannonball? He said he’d be here, he said—I—I don’t know where he is. I don’t know where I am!’

Snaptrap had lost his memories from the past one-thousand years.

Tired of dealing with the pirate leader, Optimus gazed down the corridor to spot Nautilator, gazing upon him from around the hall-corner.

                ‘You!’ Optimus extended his index finger as he marched towards the Seacon.

Nautilator tried to run but was too late, Prime had already lifted him above his head, by the collar. ‘Please!’ Nautilator begged, saliva and oily tears dripping across his face. ‘Don’t kill me! Don’t throw me in that room, just—please!’

                ‘Your optics are hooked up to a feed connecting to the Decepticons outposts, yeah?’

                ‘I—yes!’

                ‘And they have audio?’

                ‘Yes!’

                ‘Then let me make my message clear. To all of you out there who don’t know me, my name, is Optimus Prime. I was born over 3,000 years ago on Planet Cybertron before the Fulcrum Bombings that tore it apart. I have since acted in a minor role in the war as the least productive Prime in history. To those who already know who I am, then you are well aware that I was the one who killed Megatron. I still question why I did what I did, and better yet, whether I regret it. Whatever may be the truth, what I did was not right or just, yet still, I’m still unsure if that means I _shouldn’t_ have done it. I killed Megatron, I dealt a major blow to you and I paid the price in such with this bounty. To all of you that put it upon themselves to try to hunt and kill me, I have only one thing to say to you: Come and try.’

Knocking Nautilator aside, and raising a brow to the crying Snaptrap, Optimus activated his communicator. ‘Autobots, we’ve won.’


	18. Moving Forward

The moments following victory were a blur to Optimus. It wasn’t long after he had lifted himself out of that blasted facility did Prime make a beeline for his ship, stumbling down the familiar hallways and ducking through the doorway before passing out on his recharge slab.

He heard voices.

_I wonder Prime, I wonder…_

_When all the worlds want you dead, where is the safest place to hide?_

_You have only experienced a taste of what my legacy offers my friend. Millions are after your head, and soon, when I return, I will be one of them. You can struggle all you want, but it will not be long before you drown under the bodies of the hungry._

_Where is the safest place to hide you ask?_

_Why… in-sanity of course._

\-----

Optimus woke softly, as if it were due to some cause-to-result. A thick sickness was felt in the bottom of his throat and his stomach felt clogged by some large gob of sludge. His limbs hung off either side of the slab, his lips rusted and stiff and his retinas felt like they were ablaze post system recharge. While his self-repair systems were online, many of the depressions and bruises across his limbs and chest plate remained. Pushing himself to do so, Optimus sat up and rubbed a digit across his optical lids before lifting his legs and dropping them off the side of the slab. On his feet, Optimus decided against driving (over the fear of a painful transformation due to his wounds) and walked his way down the Ark’s halls instead. Pausing to look out one of the Ark’s, Plexiglas windows, Optimus found that they were no longer attached to the cylindrical facility and that the Ark and the Lost Light had been attached by a docking-cable through their centers.

_Did we take off?_ Optimus wondered. He made his way to the main deck, and proceeded through the dock-cable and into the white and red ship. Working his memory, Optimus mapped his way to the bridge and set himself towards it. 

Waiting for him there was a plethora of familiar faces: Standing in the circle were Ironhide and Blackarachnia, their arms folded and facing Rodimus. They looked up at the same time, beaming at Optimus. Standing alongside them were Flareup and Firestar and sitting next to them were Drift and Nautica who had each been slouched alongside Rodimus. The Prime sat at the far left of the circle, easily the center of attention.

                ‘So then _I_ said: “Murder charges? Don’t you mean more paint jobs?’

Rodimus let out a high, squeaky laugh all by himself, prompting a forced cough from the enthusiastic Prime. ‘Cause—you get it right?’

Nautica shook her head, deadpanned. ‘No. It would seem your humour is much too complex for _my_ mind.’

Rodimus rolled his optics over the sarcasm and turned to the twins. ‘You guys get what I’m saying, right?’

Flareup nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

                ‘Positively.’ Firestar echoed. The twins’ voices went back and forth in an almost zig-zag form of speech.

                ‘Hilarious.’

                ‘A laugh riot.’

                ‘Made my belly hurt from laughing so much’

                ‘Could’ve been clearer.’

                ‘It didn’t really made much sense.’

                ‘I have no idea what you said.’

                ‘I actually wasn’t listening, I was thinking of something else.’

The Prime batted a servo at them in chagrin, his optics traveling towards the bridges entrance and locking onto Optimus. Rodimus clapped his hands together and extended a digit at the weak robot. ‘There’s mister big shot himself! How you feeling Optimus?’

Optimus treaded towards the circle of Autobots, staring at the shoddily covered hole in Rodimus’ stomach. A black ring circled its circumference, and some newly formed metal plating covered its area, but the way it was nailed into place looked half-assed at best.

                ‘Me? Well, I’m probably feeling better than you do. That hole in your stomach… that’s a really nasty wound you’ve got there, do you not have anyone to patch it up properly?’

Nautica made a rude gesture with one servo, raising her wrench with the other. ‘Hey, no one’s asking for your opinion, I’m an engineer, not a doctor, obviously, from where I stand I think I did pretty darn well. Besides…’ Nautica reached over and tapped on Rodimus’s wound. ‘Primes have a faster regeneration cycle than your average Autobot— I barely needed to lift a finger.’

Optimus shook his head, sitting across from Nautica. ‘Sorry, I’m not questioning your skills in anything, I was just going to offer to patch the wound up myself.’ He turned to Rodimus. ‘But that comes later, first of all I’d like to uh… apologize for sleeping in. How long was I out?’

Ironhide shrugged his shoulders. ‘About a day and a half.’

Taking note on Prime’s expression, Rodimus raised his voice. ‘Oh don’t worry, most of us have been resting our eyes as well. Some of us still are actually, Skids should be sleeping like a protoform as we speak.’

Optimus didn’t appear satisfied. ‘Maybe I should have stayed in bed after all… but enough of that, would anyone mind filling me in on, well, everything?’

                ‘Not much to fill in.’ Ironhide shifted his weight where he stood, his back was leaned against one of the bridge’s support pillars. ‘No fatal casualties on either side… and the six Decepticons were rounded up and buckled down with stasis cuffs on their wrists and ankles.’

                ‘We called up Prowl and he told us to leave them in the facility.’ Rodimus continued. ‘He’s sending a pickup team to arrest the poor suckers and strip their ship for spare parts.’

Optimus sighed, shaking his head mournfully. ‘It’s a shame, they had a nice ship— built to look exactly like the kind that runs on water via sails… it was great.’

                ‘You _are_ speaking of the same ship that tore apart the Lost Light’s engines right?’

                ‘Yes Drift, I am. Just because it was Decepticon property, doesn’t mean I can’t respect it in some capacity.’ Optimus blinked, turning to face out the nearest window and staring at his own spaceship wistfully. ‘Nothing like the Ark though—she’s the only ship for me…’

Optimus remained fixated on the golden Ark.

                ‘Um… guys?’ Nautica jabbed a finger at the Prime. ‘What’s his deal?’

Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head in embarrassment. ‘He… uh… he’s kind of—‘

Optimus shook his head passively, whispering under his breath. ‘That ship is so fine, _SO fine._ ’

                ‘You don’t want to know.’ Ironhide said as fast as he could. ‘He… _really_ likes his ship.’

Prime remained marveled by the craft. _‘Never seen a sexier ship in my life.’_

                ‘ANYWAYS!’ Rodimus stood up, straigtening himself out and snapping Optimus out of his trance. ‘We’ve got a few questions of our own if that’s completely okay with you.’

Optimus felt himself tense up.

_Did Ironhide tell them?_ He hesitated, staring at the black Autobot.

                ‘What is it?’

Rodimus placed his hands on his hips, brow raised as he tilted his head. ‘Their leader, Snaptrap, what did you… _do_ to him?’

He exhaled. _Guess they’re talking about something else._ ‘Sorry, would you mind debriefing me on the subject some? My memory’s a little foggy from the night before.’

                ‘You’re not the only one—and that’s exactly it.’ Rodimus clasped his hands as he explained. ‘When we found Snaptrap he was… well, to put it bluntly he was a child, his mind was at least. We questioned him and it turns out he has no memories of the past one-thousand years. The Surge, Megatron’s nightmare machine— _just massive_ chunks have been ripped from his mind, he barely has any memories past leaving his planet of birth.’

                ‘Oh.’ Optimus nodded, things becoming clear. ‘It’s a lot to take in, but… yeah. Back in the facility, before we ran into the pirates— Ironhide, Blackarachnia and I found this… this door that… well… it’s a sort of…’ He groaned, turning to Ironhide for support. ‘Hey, help me out here, what would you call that—thing, that—door, y’know?’

                ‘Uhh…’ Ironhide massaged the ridge of his nose between his fore-finger and thumb, working the gears in his head. ‘It was… a magic door?’

Optimus snapped his fingers ecstatically. ‘Yeah! That’s it, a magic door!’

Rodimus craned his head from Ironhide, to Optimus and back. ‘What you’re saying is absurd and impossible and sounds like a lie… Go on.’

Optimus batted his servos at the other Prime. ‘Okay, okay. So this _magic door_ , it—we tried opening it and looking inside, Blackarachnia, Ironhide, then me, I know it’s sounds stupid, but whatever’s inside made us forget what it was the moment we turned away.’

                ‘It’s true.’ Blackarachnia said with a nod. ‘That was some real freaky slag, I feel sick just _remembering_ it… so to speak.’

Rodimus lowered his brow, observing Optimus carefully. ‘So when it came to Snaptrap…’

                ‘I knew I couldn’t beat him in a one on one fight, so I lured him to the door, we wrestled a bit, but I managed to kick him off of me and into the room behind the door. I shut it behind him and locked him in there for about a minute. When I let him out he was just as you described. He didn’t lose his memories of the last few seconds like we did, the room sapped his memories of the past thousand years.’

                ‘Yeesh.’ Rodimus’ massaged the back of his neck. His lips pursing in unease. ‘No offence, but that’s kind of morbid.’

Optimus tensed his shoulders. ‘Well I mean, I didn’t kill him… arguably. Besides, I had to think on my feet, I didn’t consider whether the effects would be permanent or damaging when I was being chased down a long, narrow hallway by a butchering maniac.’

Rodimus raised his servos in defense. ‘No, no—I’m not judging, we managed to get through this scot-free, it was a close one but frankly I’m satisfied. If I didn’t have a hole in my stomach I’d call for a celebration party right now.’

                ‘Yeah…’ Blackarachnia tilted her head to the side. ‘A ship load of Autobots vs a couple of jerk-asses.’

                ‘They were _big_ asses…’ Rodimus retorted defensively. He shook his head. ‘I mean—you know what I mean. Besides, 90% of the Lost Light crew are non-combatants. Engineers and landscapers and such— misfits. Not all of us are as awesome as me.’

                ‘Welp…’ Optimus slapped his thighs as he rose from his chair. ‘Since this discussion has pretty much finished and moved on to Rodimus’s ego, this uh— “meeting” is adjured.’ He extended a commanding servo at Ironhide and Blackarachnia. ‘Head to the Ark when you’re ready, I’ll be there as soon as I finish patching up Rodimus.’

The flame coloured Prime fingered his hips as he stood, nodding unenthusiastically to his Autobots. ‘You guys go with them, help them move their stuff or whatever.’

In time, the Autobots had said their parting goodbyes and vacated the bridge until only Optimus and Rodimus remained.

Optimus wringed his hands as he observed the wound. ‘Alright, let’s see how bad this scrape really is. Curling his fingers around the plated metal covering his stomach, Optimus pressed the tips of his fingers around it and squeezed. Twisting his wrist and loosening the metal from the red plated mech. Rodimus’ stomach convulsed and squirmed as the shoddy slab of metal had been peeled clean off like an unattended bandage. Hidden beneath is was the clean crevice that tore through his center, a twinkle of light peeking out the other side. The inside of the wound was leaking black and green viscos fluids and a black ring crusted the circle’s perimeter, giving off a rancid odor. Optimus looked up to find that Rodimus had been clenching his teeth the entire time.

                ‘Well.’ Optimus examined the rotting wound. ‘That’s not great.’

\-----

Blackarachnia pouted her lower lip as she lifted another box of equipment. ‘What the hell? I don’t remember bringing anything on board— why is all this equipment here?’

Flareup and Firestar carried a large box on either side, their wide oval eyes staring at Blackarachnia. Flareup spoke first. ‘Pirates raided your ship, grabbed every little tinker-toy you had stashed away.’

                ‘We raided _their_ ship before we left.’

                ‘Grabbed your things while you were at it.’

Blackarachnia shrugged, moving the boxes between the two ships. The twins worked close behind her. ‘Yeah, well, the Ark doesn’t seem to have much in it anyway, makes sense why these boxes are so light.’

                ‘They’re mostly pictures.’ Firestar said.

Blackarachnia raised a pair of brows. ‘You looked?’

Flareup shook her head. ‘We _know._ Optimus took most of the memorabilia from Earth with him when we split. Photos mostly.’

Blackarachnia nodded in understanding. ‘So the two of you were a part of that outpost he was set on too huh? ‘Heard it fell. That must’ve sucked.’

The twins’ optics narrowed simultaneously. Firestar barely moved her lips. ‘Indeed.’

The three bots worked in silence for what felt like minutes.

                ‘How _is_ Optimus?’ Flareup suddenly inquired.

Blackarachnia was taken aback. ‘What? I dunno. He’s okay I guess. Why do you ask?’

                ‘Because Rodimus isn’t. He’s healed, but he’s adopted some… characteristics after the purge.’

                ‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia chewed on her lip in thought. Thinking back to what she learned about Megatron’s death, and of what the Prime had said and done within the past week. ‘He’s… a little restless, but he hasn’t done anything, ah... crazy I should say. He’s fine I’m sure.’

                ‘I see.’ Flareup nodded.

                ‘Many bad things happened on Earth.’ Firestar continued from where Flareup left off. ‘Their primitive cities toppled over, their rich, green hills were set ablaze, and their oceans had run red.’ Her expression turned sour. ‘The Decepticons are to blame for this. We’ll never forget earth—and we’ll never forgive them.’

                ‘Never forgive.’ Flareup echoed.

                ‘Yeah…’ Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head, smiling uneasily. ‘Those Decepticons sure are—I mean, they are very… not good. They’re bad. Yeah.’

Blackarachnia shuffled to Flareup’s place, helping her place the final box into the Ark’s boarding hall.

                ‘That should do it. So with you two as twins and all, do you have one of those mental-links? Like, do you two finish each other’s sentences—?’

                ‘We know who you are ARA-003.’

Blackarachnia froze. Her optics shifting slowly from the boxes to the twins. Their frames suddenly appeared taller and broader than they did just a second ago. In fact, Blackarachnia could have sworn she was taller than the both of them.

                ‘Rodimus Prime hates to answer Prowl’s calls.’

                ‘But we do it anyway.’

                ‘As such, we pick up the current issues found by High Command. It has been determined that you were the one to have caused those outposts so much trouble the past month.’

                ‘Alright.’ Blackarachnia raised her head, pressing her palms forward. ‘So what are you going to do about it? Are you looking for a fight?’ She laugh leaked from her lips as her blades quivered. ‘If so then I can happily oblige.’

Flareup raised the palms of her hands towards the spider, mirroring her previous action. ‘Relax, we don’t mean you trouble. We’d love to, but not here.’

                ‘Please know that your stay on this ship should not have lasted as long as it already has. We do not take you kindly.’

                ‘But Optimus is our friend. If he has taken you under his wing, then we trust his judgement.’

Blackarachnia squinted her four optics as the twins turned to leave. ‘Right.’

Flareup and Firestar eyed each other one more time and nodded, a crisp smile forming across their lips. ‘Well. Done!’

The twins made their way back into the Lost Light with a sudden enthusiasm as Blackarachnia followed them cautiously from behind.

\-----

                ‘And so _I_ said: “Constructed Cold? I’m constructed HOT!”’

Rodimus winced as Optimus shaved the dead skin around the wound with his scalpel.

Optimus made a “tch” noise with his teeth. ‘Oh quit complaining, your cells are already regenerating.’

                ‘I wasn’t complaining.’

                ‘No but you were thinking it…’ A smile crept upon Prime’s lips. ‘Hey Rodimus, check this out.’ Optimus dipped his hand into the wound, reaching out the other side. ‘I can fit my entire arm through your stomach, hah!’

Rodimus belched nauseously, his optics widening. ‘Hey cut that out, it’s making me feel sick.’

Optimus retreated his arm, grinning. ‘Sorry, just having some fun, say I bet if we put soap inside you we could blow stomach sized bubbles out the other side as well.’

Rodimus frowned, gripping on to the kneeling Prime’s shoulder. ‘Seriously Optimus, I’m gonna be sick all over you in a minute if you keep that up.’

He waved a calming servo. ‘Okay, okay, I’m just playing… Hey, completely off-topic question, but is Nightbeat around?’

The red and yellow Prime shook his head. ‘‘Fraid not. He hooked up with Siren not long after you left, says he had some sort of important—IE Boring—work to attend to.’

                ‘Well that’s unfortunate, I’m sure he’d love to hear the story of “Team Prime VS the Magic Door”, I’d have loved to hear his input on it.’

                ‘Yeah, it’s probably best to leave these sort of things up to him. When it comes down to it, we just don’t have anything to do with these sorts of things. We’ll probably never hear from them ever again either.’

For the next couple of minutes, Optimus worked on Rodimus’s wound in silence, stitching and filling the wound with wire and regenerative paste.

                ‘It’s funny.’

                ‘What’s funny, Rodimus?’

                ‘You being a doctor. You are a Prime, a robot literally built to lead soldiers into battle… and here you are playing the role of a medic.’

Optimus shrugged. ‘I wanted to be a doctor before Cybertron fell—before they found out I was a Prime. I never finished my medical degree, but I still know the basics.’ He twirled his scalpel. ‘Shouldn’t matter really—there’s no reason I can’t act in both medicine and Prime-ing.’

Rodimus nodded slowly. ‘You know, Team Rodimus could use a medic.’

                ‘No.’

There was another moment of silence, Rodimus didn’t want to pressure the other Prime, but he wasn’t going to drop the topic so easily. ‘Okay, why not?’

Optimus sighed. ‘There are a few reasons, Rodimus. Reasons I can’t tell you— that you will surely learn sooner or later.’ He folded his equipment and faced the flame-coloured Prime. ‘You have your own people to look after Rodimus, people you need to _learn_ how to look after. Regardless of what you think, I’m no better than you, I took a few jobs before the Surge but I’m still as new to this sort of thing as you are.’

Rodimus lifted his shoulder. ‘I mean, I guess, but—!’

                ‘I’m in a bad spot right now Rodimus, and I am not going to drag you or your team down with me.’ He stood. ‘I know you don’t fully understand yet, but I can only hope that when you eventually _do_ find out—’

Rodimus snapped his fingers. ‘You’re not in gambling debt or anything are you?’

Optimus shook his head. ‘No… nothing _that_ bad I suppose... Still, whatever happens, just try to stay safe, yeah?’

Rodimus cracked a smile and shook his hand. ‘Whatever you say boss-bot.’

\-----

Ironhide stood above the bored looking civilians of the Lost Light, there were about ten or so left, if only because Ironhide had purposefully puffed out his chest.

He cleared his throat to speak. ‘Now remember kids, winners never… lose… drugs.’

The robots shrugged and made their way out of the corridor and back to Swerve’s bar.

Ironhide swiped at them to go and smacked himself in the face. ‘Ah, whatever. This kind of crap is Prime’s job.’

                ‘Ironhide!’

It was Drift, the multi-coloured samurai approached the heavier robot. A wide grin plastered across his face; there was a positive aura about him that Ironhide could feel from metres away. Whatever that meant.

                ‘Oh, hey Drift.’

The Autobot shuffled his thick legs, inching next to Ironhide. ‘What was that all about?’

                ‘That? Oh, Optimus wanted me to make an impression on the young-uns here. It didn’t work.’

Drift smiled partly. ‘So I see.’

Ironhide turned his attention to the three robots conversing at the other end of the hall. His optics squinting at Blackarachnia in particular.

                ‘Something troubling you?’

                ‘Just the Decepticon aboard the ship.’

Drift scratched the side of his helm apprehensively. ‘Oh, I see.’

Ironhide grunted. ‘Yeah, that Blackarachnia, murderer killed a bunch of Autobots. Optimus somehow thinks that it’s okay to keep her around to do as she pleases. I’m not so confident.’

Drift exhaled. ‘Well, I was confident you were going to say something bad about me. I mean, considering my own lifestyle choices.’

Ironhide snickered quietly. ‘Oh please, because your philosophy doesn’t permit guns? That’s fine… besides, the way you flip around with swords is kind of cool. Like Batman.’

Drift laughed nervously, shying his head from the bulkier Autobot. ‘That’s not what I—.’

                ‘Drift used to be a Decepticon.’

To their surprise, Optimus had snuck between the two of them, stunning them both with what he had to say. He turned to Drift apologetically. ‘Sorry, was that a supposed to be kept secret?’

Drift raised his hands in acceptance. ‘No… yes… well, I like to keep that info on the down low. Enough so that the fire-twins or Nautica won’t know at least. But to be completely honest, I was planning on letting you guys know anyways so it’s quite alright.’

Ironhide’s expression was masked by a faceplate, but his optics were set into a state of mild confusion. ‘You were a Decepticon? _You…_ were a Decepticon?! But you’re… happy-go-lucky: Drift!’

The ex-Decepticon shrugged. ‘Well I mean… I wasn’t always “Drift”. Long ago I named myself _Dreadlock_ after the deadly Destron ruler of old. But that just caused a tone of confusion so I dropped the “r” and changed it to Deadlock.’

                ‘As I thought.’ Optimus folded his arms. ‘So you were Deadlock, the Conclave member and City Commander before Sixshot.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, but I didn’t actually didn’t hold that name for very long either. After I decided to bugger-off from the cons I—and I recognize the irony in this—joined a pirate crew under some guy named… unf… Cannonball? Yeah, Cannonball. Anyways I ended up killing him and took his name. Because apparently the title of Cannonball went on like that. Strange I know.’

Optimus sniggered, prompting Ironhide to grow more confused.

                ‘I stopped being Cannonball shortly after some kid, bitter over the death of the last Cannonball, led a revolt against me. I got stabbed and blown up a few times, but hey, I got lucky and escaped. I dipped in and out of some pirate crews after that—gave the title of Cannonball to some other shmuck and found myself involved with the Circle of Light. It was around then I dropped being a con for good. Rodimus is still teaching me some, though…’

Optimus beamed at his weapons specialist. ‘Well? How’s about them apples, Ironhide?’

He barely shrugged. ‘Whatever. I’ll be waiting in the Ark.’ Ironhide waved one of his cannons towards the femme at the other end of the hall. ‘BLACKARACHNIA!’ he roared. ‘Get on board, we’re leaving soon!’

The spider robot raised her hands in a fickle manner. ‘Okay, okay, I’m moving! Don’t get your giant granny-panties in a knot.’

Meeting in the doorway, Ironhide rushed the former Decepticon, pushing her by the shoulders into the Ark.

Drift bowed his head. ‘Well Prime, it was an honour to properly meet you. May we meet again in the future.’

Optimus nodded. ‘Yeah, hakuna matata to you too man.’ He cleared his throat. ‘For our paths may someday cross, until then, look out to the stars, and, like, you know, pretend one of them is my soul or something. For then—ahem—we as Autobots will never truly be apart, we will forever strive together in a perpetual march for our lives, no matter how far apart we _truly_ are.’

Drift stared at him dimly.

                ‘No wait… let me rephrase that.’

                ‘There’s no need.’ Drift bowed once again. ‘I will see you… around.’

As Drift disappeared down the corridor, Optimus grew weary of the remaining presence. ‘Well, what do you want?’ he turned to face the large, blue and red Autobot leaning against the Lost-Light’s silver walls. ‘Skids?’

The Autobot separated from the corridor and faced the Prime, his face a blank. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. I am an agent of Prowl. I was placed on Rodimus’s ship to observe him and make sure he doesn’t make any bad decisions. Like you, he’s a Prime and therefore a technical member of High Command.’

                ‘But this isn’t about him, is it?’ Optimus guessed.

                ‘Everything’s about _you_ nowadays it seems.’ Skids made a guess of his own. ‘You’ve done something, Optimus, something… bad.’ He sighed. ‘Okay so I’m not actually trying to be coy, I really don’t know what this something is, and neither does Prowl, that’s why he’s asked me to keep an eye out for you.’

                ‘Yeah, well, to preserve my own safety. I won’t be telling you any time soon.’

Skids nodded, clapping his hands together. ‘Right, no, I get that. You’re also kind of off the grid. Like _way_ off the grid. You’re one of the few Autobots out there that’s invisible to Prowl. I don’t know how you’ve masked your signature but… I’m sure it’s quite a story.’

Optimus laughed. ‘Sorry, not telling you that either.’

The agent shrugged. ‘He just wants a status report.’

                ‘Then tell him we’re fine. And if he wants to hear anything from me, then he can find and ask me directly himself.’

Skids blinked. ‘Oh so—are you two like…’

                ‘No. We were at no point in time in any sort of romantic relationship.’ Optimus sighed.

There was a moment of silence.

                ‘…I was going to say enemies.’

\-----

Blackarachnia felt her resentment growing as Ironhide shoved her into the Ark. ‘Okay, OKAY. We’re inside the Ark now, enough with all the shoving. I mean, what are you? A _shove_ l?’

The femme turned around to face Ironhide to find the black robot eyeing down the docking-cable from which they came, scanning for any followers.

                ‘What are you…? Oh I see what’s going on—this is the part where you kill me and make it look like an accident.’ She spread out her arms. ‘Come on then, my elbow itches and I feel like my fuel pump is misplaced in my stomach.’

Ironhide was taken off-guard. ‘What? Oh, no. I’m not going to kill you. Not yet at least. I just…’ Ironhide sighed.

                ‘What? What’s your deal, man?’

Ironhide grasped at the air as if doing so would better form the correct sentence. ‘Look I… what you did, you… back in the cell, and I thought you abandoned us but… you didn’t. If you didn’t come back with Rodimus we’d, well, we’d be dead.’

Blackarachnia shrugged, scratching at her elbow. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

                ‘What I’m trying to say is… since we’re not dead that’s… that’s good! And… and maybe you are actually just a little more helpful than I initially thought. So—yeah. That’s good stuff—that’s… just, keep up the good work.’

Blackarachnia tilted her head to the side and bared her teeth. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? I mean, I’m not complaining but… you’re not very good at self-expression—no, you’re not good at speaking period. Are you?’

Ironhide fumed, clenching and un-clenching his fists roughly. ‘No.’

                ‘That’s what I thought.’

The incoming heavy footsteps from the dock-cable were what tipped the two robots off on Optimus Prime’s arrival.

                ‘Sorry, I was just saying goodbye to someone. Hey… you kids are behaving, right?’

Ironhide and Blackarachnia shrugged in unison.

                ‘Anyways…’ Optimus turned around to dislodge the tow cable from the Ark, stopping with his hand over the pulley capable of doing so. ‘Before we go, I have to set things straight. You both know what I did, and you both know the danger that brings you. I am the most wanted Autobot in the galaxy; siding with me will only expose you to more maniacs like Snaptrap, and considering how likely it is for me to die in these upcoming months, your own lives will be placed into jeopardy. I am not forcing you on this ship, if either of you want out, then by all means, I can guarantee you’ll be accepted a spot on the Lost Light.’

Ironhide shook his head not long after Optimus had finished. ‘I’ve given it some thought, Prime, and I decided that whatever the case… whatever your notoriety… I’m still going to rain down hell by your side.’

After a moment of pause, the two Autobots turned to Blackarachnia.

                ‘Oh… what? You’re waiting for me to say—? Yeah, well, I’m already being hunted by the cons so…’ She shrugged. ‘Misery loves company.’

Convinced, Optimus pulled the lever and the two ships detached. It did not take long for the Lost Light to fly in the opposite direction and disappear into the void away from the Ark.

Optimus clapped his hands. ‘Alright Ironhide, boot up the engine, it’s time to roll.’

Ironhide made a quick, casual salute and headed off towards the Ark’s main deck in long strides. He stopped mid-way to turn around and extended a finger at Blackarachnia. ‘When I get back, I better not find you doing anything… _evil._ ’

Blackarachnia slouched over moodily. ‘Pfft. Yeah, and what are you supposed to be? The _evil_ police?’

                ‘I don’t even know how to respond to that.’

                ‘I think we already firmly established that you wouldn’t know how to respond to anything.’

                ‘Yeah well…’ He disappeared around the corner, his voice fading as his traveled. ‘ _Thanks_ … see? I _can_ express somethings.’

With Ironhide gone, Blackarachnia’s expression dropped as she turned to Optimus. Her four optics were uncharacteristically wide. ‘Look, Prime. There’s something I have to… confess.’

                ‘I know.’

She reared her head, unsure if he was serious or not. ‘Well… look, back when I was let out of the cell, I meant what I said. I had no intention of coming back to save you at the time and… it was pretty much by chance I made contact with Rodimus.’ She shifted her stance. ‘I’m not one to apologize or nothing—but I’m still grateful to be here, don’t get me wrong. I just decided that maybe it would be best to be honest as well. You know what I’m saying?’

Optimus shrugged. Repeating what he said before. ‘I know. I didn’t expect you to know where to find Rodimus, and I could tell that you were completely honest back in the Poseidon. Though chances are, I would have done the exact same thing in your shoes. In the end it doesn’t really matter; you’re a part of my crew now, and if you decide on being pragmatic, then by all means. I’m not going to reign you down for trying to save your own hide. Still…’ Optimus shortened the distance between them and imposed upon the smaller robot. His voice like a whip. ‘I’m not so quick to forgive you for what you did. You killed Cog and Incision… and nearly killed Ironhide. If we truly are being perfectly honest here, I still hate you for it.’

Blackarachnia didn’t budge, her composure remained defiant in the face of the broad-shouldered warrior.

                ‘But…’ Optimus was yet to be finished. ‘You are still wrapped into the same mess as us, and for that I have a level of forgiveness for you. That said, I don’t know how the Decepticons do it, but I fully expect you to think of your comrades in the future.’

His communicator rang. _‘Optimus, this is Ironhide. I’m ready to lift off but I’m having trouble again. I’m not sure which to press for Autopilot.’_

‘I’m thankful for the save, and I know that Ironhide is too. And while I admit that there’s a lot keeping me from trusting you—this conversation here and now—the fact that you’re admitting your mistake is a big plus in itself. Now hold on for a minute… Ironhide’s calling.’

The Prime took a step back from Blackarachnia and pressed a small module against the side of his head. ‘Hey ‘Hide, what’s the problem?’

Ironhide’s voice fizzled through the comm-link at a grainy frequency. _‘Yeah, I’m trying to boot up the ship’s autopilot and I don’t think I’m doing it right.’_

                ‘Are you pulling the knob? You need to be pulling the knob.’

                _‘I’m tugging the knob. I swear I’m tugging it.’_

                ‘Then try to loosen it a bit. Twist the tip a little and maybe then it’d work. Don’t be surprised if it shoots oil at you.’

Blackarachnia slapped herself in the forehead. ‘I don’t believe this. This is the second time you’ve done this and you still haven’t realized what you’re saying.’

                ‘What I’m sayi—’ Optimus snapped his fingers. ‘Oh hell, you’re right! I can’t _believe_ I said _that._ Ironhide, we’ve made a big mistake. You’re supposed to stick your finger in the hole to do it.’

                _‘Oh.’_

The Ark’s engine woke into an elevating hum as the ship jerked.

                ‘Why do you even do this?’ Blackarachnia wondered aloud, bowing her head away from Optimus. ‘The innuendo isn’t even funny…’

                ‘Innu-what now?’

Ironhide jogged over to the pair. Huffing lightly into his faceplate. ‘Done and done.’

Blackarachnia sniggered to herself, prompting a glare from the dark weapons specialist.

Somehow, Ironhide’s perpetual glare had deepened further, much to Blackarachnia’s puzzlement. ‘What’s so funny?’

She waved a hand foxily. ‘Nothing whatsoever. I think it’s great to see you getting some exercise to work out all that blobby fat.’

Light seared from Ironhide’s eyes as Optimus patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t listen Ironhide, she’s just jealous.’ Ironhide let out an audible sigh and whirred his head from either side of the hallway, wondering what’s next.

                ‘See?’ Optimus leaned against the wall to his left. ‘This is what I’m talking about. The two of you fight now… but for us to properly grow as a team, we must learn to treat each-other with respect…’

                ‘Oh no.’ Ironhide and Blackarachnia spoke in unison.

                ‘For true bonds are put together with trust and honesty and—and friendship! By working together, we can prove that we are more than a bunch of cogs in the great machine. We are _working_ cogs in a _really_ great machine. I think this is a very important moral of our story today. Be nice and honest with one another, in other words, don’t believe in yourselves… You, Ironhide, believe in the Blackarachnia that believes in you. And You, Blackarachnia, believe in the _Ironhide_ that believes in _you_! By doing this, I think we can all—.’

Prime’s speech was caught short as the wall he had been leaning on folded inward, disappearing and forming a wide, empty doorway. Losing his balance, Optimus fell into the newly formed passageway and down the subsequent set of cruelly placed steps.

Blackarachnia grabbed her stomach as she cackled out loud. ‘When even the Ark hates your speeches, then you _know_ you’ve struck low.’

Ironhide pounded a swift jab into her shoulder. ‘Hey now, be respectful.’ He turned and studied the darkness of the cellar. ‘A hidden room on the Ark… Prime! You alright?’

Optimus’s groans could be heard from below. ‘Agh… I fell on my aft.’

The burly Autobot cracked a smile. ‘Heheh…’ realizing his own hypocrisy, Ironhide quickly erased his expression and cleared his throat. ‘What is this passageway?’ He called out once again. ‘Did you know about this?’

Optimus’s voice reverberated from within, the echoes distorting his words somewhat. ‘Yeah, I’m beginning to recall… oh hey!’

                ‘What? What did you find?’

The sounds of metal stomping on metal reverberated and grew in volume as Optimus climbed back up the musty, metal steps. In his hand was a small, glass, cube of swirling pink energy.

                ‘Check it out.’ He said, holding the cube forward. ‘Energon!’

Ironhide bent over and studied the cube thoroughly. ‘Where did you find this?’ he asked, tapping at the glass.

Optimus waggled a finger and flicked a switch from inside the doorway. The staircase came alight and the cellar’s floor was illuminated. Below, stacks upon stacks of Energon aligned the bottom of the steps. Enough to last them a couple of months at least. ‘Remember when I said I traded away all my weaponry? Well, it must have slipped my mind, but I traded it all for some spare Energon. Turns out I had it stored down here all along.’

                ‘Wait. Wait. _Wait.’_ Blackarachnia pressed her thumbs together anxiously. ‘Let me wrap my head around this for just a sec. Are youtelling me that you’ve had this stockpile of Energon under your nose _this whole time_?!’

Optimus tensed his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid I have. Which, admittedly means that no, in the end we didn’t need to go on that high stakes, life threatening and possibly scarring pirate adventure in order to get the Energon. But hey, don’t look so mad—think of all the—heh—all the friendship and… trust exercises this did for us. And… I mean—right guys? …Guys?’

Blackarachnia and Ironhide shared a look before jumping forward and simultaneously tackling Optimus to the ground; placing him in a double headlock as revenge for the one from the day before.

Optimus let out a nervous laugh as the three robots squirmed on the floor. ‘Heh… see… you’re teaming up… on me… the two of you are… bonding… already.’

                ‘Would you care to do the honours Blackarachnia?’

                ‘I would be honoured good Ironhide.’

For the next few minutes. Blackarachnia and Ironhide took turns giving their commander his fair share of playful headlock noogies and stomach jabs. Just as the Ark set its course towards _Talon IV._

\-----

                ‘So it’s true then? You don’t remember anything past Barbarossa?’

The cuffed Snaptrap shook his head. ‘No sir.’

                ‘Not the battle of the Pyke? The sack of Predaking’s Landing? The fall of Primal Prime and Alpha Supreme?’

He repeated himself

Nautilator would have scratched his chin, could he have if he wasn’t already bound by his cuffs. ‘Interesting. Then I suppose you also don’t remember all those promotions Megatron gave me?’

                ‘Oh hush up Nautilator!’ Scylla hissed. The Seacon was uncomfortable enough having been locked up inside a dark, cold, abandoned science facility but she especially did not appreciate the constant chatter of her comrades whatsoever.’

                ‘Geez, you’re in a bad mood.’

                ‘Of course I’m in a bad mood Overbite, we lost! And in the stupidest way imaginable!’

The Seacons nodded in subtle agreement, though Snaptrap remained perplexed.

                ‘I can’t believe we let the freaking spider-bitch free. I can’t believe—UGH!’ Scylla fell onto her back in irritation. ‘If we are ever free again. No mercy. Never.’

                ‘Even if it’s a baby?!’ Nautilator gasped.

                ‘ESPECIALLY if it’s a baby! I will eat a baby if I have to!’

                ‘Hey guys!’ Seawing spoke up, garnering some passive attention. ‘Do you hear that? Sounds like a quantum engine. I think the Autobots are here to pick us up…’

Scylla sighed. ‘Joy…’

\-----

Sonar watched from her command chair aboard the _Trion_ assault ship as it warped within a mile of the facility. Her digits nestling over the chair’s arms. Below her were a row of bots working on multiple glowing view-screens and monitors, managing the ships navigation and stability with a swift efficiency.

                ‘We’ve arrived at our destination ma’am.’

Sonar flicked a digit towards the overhead monitor. ‘Pointblank, focus the lens—activate the automatic lock-on systems. Let’s get a clearer shot of this thing.’

She waited, and the overhead view zoomed in on the cylindrical facility. Chunks of metal from the structure could be seen floating away from its body as a result of the previous battle. Sonar activated her communicube and raised it to her lips. ‘Can you see this?’

                _‘I can.’_ Prowl’s voice vibrated from the cube.

                ‘Have you seen anything like it before?’

                _‘I have. But it’s of no importance. Not anymore.’_

                ‘Ah. So you want me to—‘

                _‘Yes.’_

                ‘Got it.’

Sonar raised two of her digits above her head. ‘Gunrunner, charge rail-battery to 78%’

                ‘Already done.’ Replied a gravelly voice from above.

                ‘Good. Then fire.’

Coming to life, the Trion groaned and sputtered as its nosecone split apart, revealing the barrel of a massive cannon from within. A green light gathered around the tip of the barrel before spreading outward into a sonic boom. At full precision charge, the cannon shot a massive beam of green light through the facility. The tall cylinder was ripped apart by the weight of the blast as sheets of metal curled and shattered around the emerald fireball; wide enough to send splashes of green light across the titan’s hull and send the artificial gravity askew for 0.4 of a second. As the blast reached its radius, cracks of white lightning erupted from green clouds.  The facility had become completely unrecognizable.

                ‘Do you think any of them survived?’ Sonar asked into her communicube.

                _‘It’s highly likely that they did. We can survive anything nowadays… Send Rad, Fallout and Sizzle to retrieve them. You know the drill, tag them, register them, and then I’ll have them sent to Wheeljack.’_

                ‘Yes sir.’

\-----

Prowl turned off his console and returned to his desk work.

Something was off. He was not sure what, but for the past week, something about the state of the war seemed to be… unbalanced. _That’s it._ He decided, he was going to figure out what had left him with this bitter taste in his mouth, and he was determined to do find out as soon as possible.


	19. Morning at Autobot Command

                The Autobot Orbital Hub was illuminated by the coming rise of the nearby orbiting sun. The space station was city-like in shape and was a quarter of a size larger than New Kaon with piercing skyscrapers just as tall and streets just as wide. The sun slathered the wide open vistas and smooth reflective streets in an orange glow that brought the city to life. Translucent blue street-lights and illuminative rims flicker-faded and blended with the cities silver and blue landscape as cargo vans hummed down the whited super-highways fulfilling their early morning duties. There would be more before long.

Many of the Hub’s military towers featured a number of see-through glass tubes that connected between them for easier accessibility. God knows they needed them when considering how convenient it made inter building travel—especially so for someone such as Hubcap, who’s function required restricting himself to three buildings at a time: The main war tower, the barracks, and the civilian housing center. Not that Hubcap could complain, he was built mere days before Wench had inserted the final transport tube into the Hub’s frame. And with his function planned from the start, Sentinel cheekily granted him the name of “Hubcap” during training. A robot born to stay inside, rework communications and broker deals with the races of the Galaxy. Again, Hubcap couldn’t complain. He liked his job and his degree of power in the Autobot hierarchy. The convenience of the buildings was a perfect example of Grapple’s genius.

Passing between buildings via transport tube, Hubcap made a mental note as to compliment Grapple as soon as he returned from his progress check on the reconstruction of Kangask IV’s research center (it had received major structural damage after an assault led by Soundwave two years prior). Thanks to his smaller frame and compact vehicle mode, Hubcap was granted the permission to drive through the tighter hallways. Something that made his engine buzz in delight. The small Cybertronian car whizzed through the Command center’s corridor and onwards to Prowl’s office. Transforming quietly into his robot mode, Hubcap knocked gently on the door, prompting a muffled voice to call from within.

                ‘Just a minute!’

Hubcap tapped his foot against the floor. It wasn’t as though Prowl was busy—sure he was second only to Magnus and therefore was bunkered with a great deal of responsibility, but there were two ways to look at the state of the war. You either conceived its multiple guilds and counter objectives as a matter of chaos, or, you saw the scattered, unco-ordinated state of both Autobot and Decepticon armadas as aspects that required less attention and were therefore less to worry about. Hubcap felt the latter. He took this for granted of course, but despite having to do his job as lieutenant communications commander regularly, his wider pool of free-time allowed for him to focus on his preferred self-assigned profession as the head Autobot deal-broker—a task that allowed him to put his power of charisma and negotiation to work.  Shrugging, he entered the room unannounced to find Prowl sitting at his desk and facing away from the door.

Hubcap popped his head through and called over to the officer. ‘Hey Prowl, buddy. The caffeinated energon maker in the main hall is busted so I was wondering if yours is still… functional—hey is everything alright?’

Prowl’s fingers tapped against his desk as he swiveled around in his chair. His face now mirrored with Hubcap’s—albeit with the minor difference in the fact that Prowl had his cheeks puffed out. It wasn’t hard to tell, but the officer’s mouth was completely stuffed with the Cybertronian equivalent of donuts. An “Ener-Gonut.”

\-----

                ‘I don’t see what’s got you so up in arms about this. It’s just a break.’

Hubcap and Prowl walked down the center’s corridors, the rising sun staining the floor gold. Prowl was nothing short of disgruntled.

                ‘You don’t understand.’ The High Commander grumbled. ‘I can’t afford breaks, I’m Prowl, I’m not a hard-ass by chance, Hubcap, I am intentionally THE hard-ass in order to make an example.’ He dragged a servo across his face. ‘But just now I… I fell to my own gluttony, now you know my dark secret Hubcap…’

It took the communications officer a moment to grasp what he was trying to say. ‘The gonuts? So what, you like gonuts, plenty of people like gonuts, it’s doesn’t suck to like gonuts.’

Prowl stared at his hands. ‘You just don’t get it Hubcap… I freaking love Gonuts… I even wiggled my fingers and said “don’t mind if I do” when I saw them on my desk.’

Hubcap moved ahead as they entered the tighter space of the transport tube. He walked backwards, grinning up at Prowl as they advanced from the residential building and into the war tower.

                ‘Well hey, no one can blame you for taking some time off, everyone already knows you never let yourself sleep. And I’m sure everyone is already aware of your gonut obsession, they’re all talking about how much weight you gained as of late.’

Prowl groaned. ‘The difference between us, Hubcap, is that I stay up late working on and concocting ways to regain territory while you stay up all night chatting it up with your acquaintances and—‘ He blinked. ‘Wait, the hell are they saying about my gonuts? Are you—do people think…’

                ‘That you’re getting fat?’ Hubcap shrugged slyly. ‘Well you are a popular topic for gossip dude, besides…’ he jabbed lightly at Prowl’s stomach. ‘You have been getting a little chubby lately.’

Prowl’s expression transformed from a blazing scowl to a look of calm. ‘Hubcap… you are one of the most reliable Autobots on the Hub, and with a skillset that I deeply respect. But just remember that if I want, I can demote you twice for every one of those promotions you’ve received the past century. In other words. Call me fat again and I’ll happily abuse my power to take you down.’

Hubcap raised his servos in surrender. ‘Okay, okay. I’m just teasing pal, you should try it sometime—make you less of an ice queen.’

                ‘I don’t get it.’

He shook his head. Placing a hand on the door to the main war room. ‘Never mind. What I mean to say is that you should learn to take a break once in a while. The war is at an all-time low, the Decepticons are practically non-existent since that drone unit was taken care of, and with the majority of free-space belonging to the Autobots we’ve got all the time in the world to relax. Lemme tell you Prowl, everything is fine!’

The war room’s doors parted and the two Autobots were exposed to the horrors within.

                ‘EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE!’

Camshaft and Overdrive were driving around the gargantuan chamber in vehicle modes, apparently with the intention of transferring information that could not be processed under the already stressed coms channels. Blaster and Mainframe were practically sweating oil as they worked their fingers on the control panels—their voices rising between pitches as Eject jumped between them, inputting his own directives. To the left of them a fire broke, prompting Inferno to waste no time in dowsing the flames in retardant foam. The red Autobot turned his spray to Smokescreen; who was rolling on the ground upon catching fire. While many Autobots scrambled over each-other in panic, there were those like Groundbreaker that stood dumbfounded by the abrupt change in pace. Searchlight sprinted over to Prowl, grabbing him by the shoulders.

                ‘Prowl! Where the hell have you been—you have crumbs on your face by the way— but more importantly, shit’s crazy! The Decepticons are attacking from all over and they’ve already breached Autobot space!’

Prowl sprang into action. ‘Hubcap! To your post, help Blaster and Eject filter communications!’

                ‘On it.’

He turned to the main command chair where Ultra Magnus took his place, the towering Supreme Commander spoke through to the major locations where conflict arose. On closer inspection, Magnus had in fact been multitasking with the wide holo-screen in front of him. His right hand—having long been upgraded by Wheeljack to have ten malleable digits—moved across the screen, inputting messages and commands via text.

The Magnus’s voice remained calm under the pressure of multiple reports flowing into his head.

                _‘This is Springer. The Wreckers and I are bunkered down—It looks like Skyquake and Shrapnel have merged their forces and are trying to take us out in one big wave of death and uh… carnage.’_

                _‘Emirate Xaaron reporting. We’ve caught multiple Decepticon scouts observing the remains of Cybertron. It is unknown if they are trying to hinder the restoration project, or perhaps capture the area for themselves.’_

                _‘Devcon here, I don’t know if this has been reported yet, but the Vestial Imperium has apparently experienced a large volume of Decepticon incursions passing their borders. I mean, I know this isn’t uncommon, but their bounty list has freaking skyrocketed!’_

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat before addressing them, his multi-jointed fingers pressing rapidly against the holo-screen. ‘Springer, launch a base of operations and remain on the defensive until further notice. T’muun cannot fall into the Decepticon clutches. Xaaron, continue the Cybertron Restoration project as scheduled—Ramhorn, Steeljaw and Quickswitch are on their way there to reinforce your guard as we speak. Devcon, you are authorized to hunt for the Decepticons in that area independently as previously agreed. In the meantime, I will schedule a conference with the Liege Centuro to negotiate further Autobot co-operation with the Imperium.

As the calls went through, Ultra Magnus turned to the newly arrived Autobots. ‘Hubcap, punch in a connection to Silverbolt Major, tell him to send air support to whatever colony needs it. Prowl, calculate the top thirty colonies in this sector that may come under Decepticon attack— send Bluestreak’s infiltration team and get some boots on the ground before the Decepticons do. Pronto.’

Prowl finished tapping the orders into his wrist. ‘Done and done, what’s next?’

Magnus didn’t answer, his fingers tapped in some final commands before turning in his chair and using his hammer to prop himself on to his feet.

                ‘Sir?’

With the commotion lowering to a calm and the fires put out, Ultra Magnus left the remaining communications work to Blaster and Hubcap. At standing height, Magnus towered above the rest, his shoulder-stacks alone nearly touching the ceiling above. Nearly twice Prowl’s height, there was without a doubt that Magnus’s title as the Autobots “Ultimate Warrior” was given suitably. ‘All major offences are being handled. I’d advise that you continue your scheduled duties until further updates are made available.’

Prowl uncurled his fingers into open palms. His neck straining to look up at the Supreme Commander. ‘But… sir. What happened just now—we’re facing multiple attacks from major Decepticon squadrons, we cannot write this off as a non-event!’

Magnus raised a large hand. ‘I understand your grivance. The Decepticons haven’t been this restless since the Surge, and if we are to find out why, we need to use as much brain as we do brawn.’

Mainframe reared his head from his duties, grasping only half of the conversation being reported. ‘Brawn and Brains are both doing their things off-Hub in case you’re wondering.’

                ‘Sounds to me like they were just sick of targeting the little guys and want to expand their appetite.’ Hubcap mentioned off-handily from his terminal. ‘Remember the years of false-calm? We could be seeing another one of those only… less calm.’

Prowl shook his head. ‘Unlikely, after so many years of random incursions, this is too well-co-ordinated. Either the Decepticons are working on their own merit or… no. Something is off here and I don’t think we’ll get our explanation so easily.’

Magnus remained stoic, his optics narrowing. ‘That is irrelevant. Prowl, I understand that you have been conducting research on an anomaly regarding some of the Hub’s POW’s. Perhaps your interrogation will offer some Decepticon perspective.’

Prowl surveyed the command room skeptically. ‘Are you sure I won’t be of better use here?’

Magnus’s ten-fingered servo formed into two large tongs, allowing them to gently cusp over Prowl’s shoulder. ‘I will manage things for now, if there’s anyone I expect to come to the bottom of these attacks, it’s you.’

\-----

                ‘Bomp.’

                ‘Getaway I’m not doing this.’

                ‘Bomp.’

Prowl stopped his trek thrusted a nimble servo behind Getaway, curling his fingers around his wrist and bending his arm backwards.

The perky, silver and bronze Autobot winced, tugging his arm away and moaning quietly. ‘Okay, okay, I gotcha, jeez. It’s not my fault if you’re a bore to talk to!’

Prowl stiffened his lip and released the agent before advancing throughout the Hub’s lower levels. ‘I’d rather be a bore than a brat…’

Getaway made a “pfft” noise through his vents and continued behind his superior officer. ‘You don’t have to act so edgy all the time you know…’

Prowl jutted his jaw and quickened his pace. ‘Whatever…’

Getaway pressed the digits of his servos against one another as they approached the temporary POW cellar. ‘If it’s security that’s making you stiff then don’t worry: Red has this whole place checked out. I watched over the cell’s construction myself and I can tell you that no one can escape—Well, no one except me of course, but then that’s a bit of an unfair advantage considering how awesome I am.’

Approaching the cellar, Prowl needed no identification, his face was practically synonymous with the Autobot symbol. Passing through the first security checkpoint and down another hallway, the second checkpoint required them to stop. Guarding it was Kick-Off, Boss and Joyride (Boss was assigned by Prowl not long after the predicament occurred, and Joyride was seemingly assigned to guard via random choice by Getaway).

Boss raised a hand, he spoke in a garbled tone. ‘Identification please.’

Prowl flashed his ID and Getaway copied the movement. With an almost passive glance, Boss motioned for Joyride who tapped at a set of panels.

                ‘Ah.’ Prowl folded his arms. ‘So these are the new security measures Red Alert has implemented in the prison-holds.’

Kick-Off nodded, leaning against the back wall. ‘Red made it easier for us. This way you don’t have to move through the entire ward to find a single prisoner…’

Joyride stepped back from his work. ‘The prisoner comes to you.’

A loud “clang” echoed from behind the door, prompting Prowl to unfold his arms in preparation. ‘How does that work?’

                ‘A giant claw picks up the cells and moves them from there to here.’ Getaway said matter-of-factly.

                ‘Is it the one I requested?’

Boss nodded, pursing his lips slightly. ‘The one with the ego right? Yeah, he’s here.’ He pressed the palm of his hand on a panel and the doors opened—revealing a large, green and purple Decepticon. His limbs were bound from behind and there was a “Hannibal Lector” facemask covering his mouth. His optics were shielded by a thin visor that made his expression completely unreadable.

Prowl entered the cell as Getaway waited within the doorframe with the others. ‘Hook.’ Prowl addressed the green Decepticon.

Hook raised his head. ‘Yes? If you have something to say then please, make it quick, I have thoughts to be had and annoying melodies to forget.’

The police-bot clapped his hands together and turned to face Getaway. ‘You see this right? Something is wrong with this situation already.’

Hook quivered in his shackles. ‘What, I can’t even respond? If you are looking for an excuse to hit me then get it over with. I’d prefer not to beat around the bush.’

Prowl knelt next to him, unsure if he could see him or not through his visor. ‘Just now—you weren’t supposed to have responded. Not because you shouldn’t have, but because naturally you couldn’t?’

Hook was taken off-guard. ‘I… beg your pardon?’

Prowl bit on his upper lip as he stared down the Decepticon. ‘What’s your class—your allegiance. Why don’t you tell me your rank?’

Hook nodded solemnly. ‘I am Hook—Constructicon drone unit; created with the express purpose of building and rebuilding Decepticon architecture and equipment.’

                ‘“Drone Unit”. As in you shouldn’t be able to articulate, let alone speak.’

Hook pondered about this for a moment and Getaway let out a breath, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. ‘And this is because…?’

                ‘No idea.’ Prowl and Hook said simultaneously.

Getaway let out another puff. ‘It’d be great if we had some theories... or a theoretician. Like Skids. I wish Skids was here— he’d probably be able to figure something out…’

                ‘We don’t need him.’ Prowl said firmly. ‘Listen… Hook. If I may ask a question… you are a very… intelligent bot; surely someone such as yourself must have had experience for your eloquent persona to develop before now. Did you happen to have a proper Cybertronian brain module implemented before your “drone-hood”?’

Hook took the compliment well. He liked being told he was intelligent. ‘Why… yes. Long ago, before I was lobotomized, I was a neutral—the head of architecture for the Vestial Imperium. The Liege Centuro—I can’t remember his name—he loved me. Not enough I’d say, as he allowed Megatron to capture us.’

                ‘You and the five other Constructicon units?’

He nodded. ‘Correct, we were the best construction engineers in the galaxy. Still are. Mixmaster has concocted liquid Nucleon, Scrapper invented polythermal grafting, Scavenger has uncovered rare metals by the dozen, and myself, I sketched out plans for the Ununtrium armor coating while I was still in training treads.’

                Prowl’s optics widened in “awe”. ‘That’s spectacular! So then…’

                ‘Then we caught Megatron’s attention. Turns out our skills existed in our physique, you know how all the best hands are forged? Well yeah, it applied to us in our respective roles as well. Megatron lured us out of Imperium space and into organic space, where there wouldn’t be a threat—he used a piece of tech on us, I don’t know if it was Kimian or Shockwave-ian, but he called it the “ _Robo-Smasher”_ so it was probably named by General Strika. After that…’ He shook his head. ‘Very little. I’m not so sure what happened since my conscious was transferred somewhere else, but now that it’s, uh, back, I wish I didn’t have to remember at all...’

                ‘And what do you remember?’

Hook swallowed down. ‘My body—replicated thousands of times over to create an army of labourers. _Our_ bodies— used to break down the legendary Crystal City and use its materials to build the dark city of New Kaon. My Ununtrium Armor— used to construct monsters like Overlord and Sixshot. Clashing in battle with old friends like Omega Supreme and Grapple…’

Prowl began to make note of Hook’s quivering, specifically the fact that the Constructicon was no longer _quivering_ , but wracking with anger.

                ‘I have never been so humiliated in my entire life… we were used as shields, fodder for the fighters to hide behind. I have died over and over again—my skills put to grotesque machinations… I hate it. I hate it all…’

Prowl placed a warm hand on the Constructicons shoulder. ‘We have a few hundred other Constructicons imprisoned, but you six were the only ones to become conscious. Do you have any idea why?’

Hook remained fixated. ‘My conscious wasn’t eliminated, it was stored somewhere. My brain module however, has always been here, in my head. If you want my theory, I’d say the barrier disconnecting my conscious from my brain has been eliminated.’

                ‘Yeah?’ Getaway scoffed. ‘And how can we know for sure that you’re the original and not another clone built specifically to tell us this stuff?’

                Hook didn’t make a move. ‘Shoot me and you’ll find out.’

Getaway, Boss, Joyride and Kick-Off tilted their heads in unison, but Prowl barely shrugged. He stood up and unclipped his ion-blaster from his belt.

                ‘Wait…’ Getaway stared as Prowl pressed the barrel of the gun against to the Constructicon’s forehead. ‘Prowl, you aren’t really—PROWL WAIT—!’

The gun fired, tearing off Hook’s mask and upper visor leaving nothing but a small fireball followed by smoke.

                ‘Prowl! What the hell are you doing?!’ Boss protested.

                ‘He was proving my case.’ The smoke wafted from Hook’s face, revealing there to be no wound at all. His visor was ripped apart due to the weaker glass alloy, and his mask had crumbled into ash, but his face—even his optics were left completely unharmed. ‘Ununtrium can’t be replicated, and the last supply of it has already been wasted away. To answer your question, how can you tell I’m the real deal? Unlike the drones, the original Constructicons and I are made of the stuff.’

Prowl turned to face Getaway, reloading a clip and tucking his gun away into his belt. ‘In other words, they can’t be killed by conventional means.’ He faced Hook and smiled. ‘And that, is truly an impressive thing.’

Hook turned his head aside and blushed.

\-----

Getaway laughed as they walked out of the first set of security clearance. ‘Man, you’ve still got it. He was eating right out of your hand!’

Prowl didn’t say a word.

                ‘But eh… do you think he was telling the whole truth?’

                ‘Getaway, I can read 800 moving objects, compute their probable paths of movement, and determine the proper countermove in .05 seconds. It does not require a large degree of focus to read a single Constructicon.’

Getaway shrugged in a way that Prowl read as: “No shit.”

Prowl’s wrist vibrated, signalling a call. The police-bot pressed a pair of digits to his temple and spoke. ‘This is Prowl, report.’

It was Blaster, he was relaying his voice in a quick, panicked tone. ‘Hey Prowl, this is Blaster blasting at you with some sketchy news. We’ve got a sitch down at Mag’s office and if you know what’s good, you should burn rubber down over there lickety split!’

Prowl jogged ahead as Getaway stumbled close behind. ‘Blaster, talk to me, what is the sitch—I mean what is the situation?’

                ‘I didn’t get the whole scoop, but from what I’ve been hearing, it’s one, big, hell of a mess. If I had to make a hypothesis, I’d say—‘

Prowl shut off his communicator as Streetwise came into view, he looked completely exasperated as  his mouth hung open. ‘Prowl!’

Prowl’s voice was like that of a whip. ‘Streetwise! What. Happened?!’

                ‘It’s Magnus! He was in his office and—and there was a scout! A Decepticon Assassin!’

\-----

                ‘Don’t panic.’ The Magnus’s office was a mess as data-pads and papers were scattered and shattered across the floor. Computer monitors had holes punched into them and, once again, a fire was in the process of extinguish by Inferno in the corner. It was evident that a fight had broken out. The room was slowly but surely in the process of restoration by Hotspot and Huffer, their beings shaken from what had just occurred. In the center of the room was a pile of mangled silver metal and wire. The body was drenched in a green liquid that seemed to steam and leak through the floor below, whatever it was, it seemed to turn the metal unnaturally soggy. There was only a slight resemblance of a humanoid shape left as it was nearly impossible to tell which sides it’s head and aft were supposed to be (it’s face no longer existed). Standing tall above the dead slab of metal, with his fists riddled with dents and his upper body covered in Energon, was Ultra Magnus. ‘I’ve dealt with it now.’

                Prowl stumbled forward, his optics darting between Autobots in a frenzy. ‘What—what the HELL HAPPENED HERE?!’

Magnus raised his ten-digited servo, connecting and disconnecting them in a lucid manner. ‘That was an order, Prowl. Don’t panic.’

Getaway massaged the back of his neck. ‘How did this even happen?’

                ‘It shouldn’t happen!’ A stout, bulky red and white Autobot named Red Alert charged into the room, a giant cannon draping over his shoulder. ‘It’s impossible for this kind of thing to happen! Ultra Magnus’s office is one of the most secure points on the Hub! The scanners should have detected the incursion within a mile!’

Prowl grabbed the Head of Security by the shoulder and squeezed down, issuing his authority the old-fashioned way. ‘It obviously isn’t impossible if Magnus was NEARLY KILLED! You had one job Red Alert, ONE JOB!’

                ‘It’s not that simple!’ the Security Head retorted. ‘These measures have to have some sort of precedent to it. This had to have been planned in the long term for my security to have been bypassed!’

Prowl grinded his teeth. ‘You FAILED!’

                ‘ENOUGH!’ Ultra Magnus slammed his hammer against the floor, sending a shockwave that nearly shattered every audio receptor in distance, the sound reaching all the way to the war-room and prompting Hubcap and Blaster to perk their heads. Getaway and Streetwise had long since skedaddled the moment the High Commanders had clashed while Huffer, Hotspot and Inferno had each stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to their leader.

Magnus was pissed.

                It had been long since Prowl had heard Magnus raise his voice in such a way. The Autobot Leader was old. Gone were the years of swinging the legendary Magnus Hammer through entire swarms of Decepticons; gone were the days of vigor and youth, of leading hundreds of Autobot soldiers into active combat. Ultra had turned sullen in his years as commander—forced to lead from a chair in a stuffy room, and with a custom-grafted prosthetic hand to point (his inner nerve-endings and exoskeleton were beyond conventional replacement). With the blood of a warrior long since cooled, Magnus had become calm and diplomatic in his recent years, far from unlikable, but not what you’d call relatable either. The factions had their leaders, the Autobots had Ultra Magnus, and the Decepticons had Megatron—but for whatever reason, despite being older and holding command since the beginning of the war, Megatron had never lost his charm or charisma, he remained young, while Magnus wilted. The Decepticons’ sudden attack on their outposts was a wakeup call, Prowl felt it, and he was certain that Magnus felt it too, because he knew as well as anyone, that the Autobot warrior of old needed to return.

                ‘This is unacceptable!’ Magnus’s voice roared. ‘We bear witness to a new Decepticon uprising and this is how you react? By tearing at each other’s throats?! You call yourselves members of Autobot High Command?!’ He jabbed a digit out the clear, crystalline, rectangular window behind his desk. ‘Do you think Megatron is behaving like this right now? Or Soundwave, or—or Starscream? They’re not. They are focused on slaughtering our people by the minute! If we want to overcome this we need to act responsible— we need to formulate a way to counteract, and _operate!_ ’

After a moment of pause, and of Prowl clenching and unclenching his hands, the strategist faced Red Alert who mirrored his expression to a T. ‘I am… sorry Red. I have been under a lot of stress lately and—and I have no excuse.’

                ‘You were right.’ Red Alert said, staring at the body. ‘We have no idea how this happened.’

Ultra Magnus tapped his prosthetic servo against his thigh and knelt next to the cadaver. ‘As much as I wish to appease both sides of your argument—I’m afraid that Red Alert is not to blame for this.’ He tapped a prosthetic finger against the corpse’s torso. ‘I cannot determine how long it has been with us, but this assassin appeared from out of my terminal. He was evidently a mass displacer.’

Prowl lowered himself next to Magnus, observing the body next to him. ‘One of Soundwave’s Cassetticons?’

                ‘Possibly. His alternate form was something… smaller, to be certain.’

                ‘What’s this liquid?’ Red Alert wondered, pointing at the green matter leaking throughout the body. ‘Acid?’

Ultra Magnus nodded. ‘After I— after he _expired,_ he melted—disintegrating into what he is now.’

Prowl nodded in understanding. ‘Disintegration capsule. Bite down before death and they won’t be able to record your face or your memories. Better if they want you kept alive and you’re feeling rebellious.’ Prowl stood between Ultra Magnus and Red Alert, eyeing them in thought. ‘If you want to stay on equal ground with us Magnus sir, then here me out, how did a Cassetticon breach us?’

Magnus squinted at the body and rose to his feet. ‘Your opinion, Red Alert?’

The security director bit his lip, bouncing lightly on his feet as he eyed Hot Spot and the others. ‘They had to bypass our systems someway.’ He traced a circle in the air with his index fingers, drawing the Hub. ‘We are impregnable, no questions asked, the only way to enter the Command Hub is if they are given access from the inside.’

Prowl massaged his chin. ‘A mole. That’s what you are trying to say: that there’s a traitor of some kind living near High Command.’

Red Alert nodded his head disjointedly, as if he was afraid to admit it. ‘I’ve been keeping my list of suspects updated.’

                ‘I read the thing myself.’ Inferno added. He was long-since finished his duties and had been eavesdropping as politely as possible. ‘Not to worry though.’ He motioned to the others. ‘No one here’s on the list.’

Red Alert frowned at the familiar red robot. ‘That is why I keep backups…’

Magnus clenched his fists in upset. ‘No. I don’t—I hold a great trust in my Autobots. I’d trust any Autobot on this citadel with my life. I… do not expect a traitor of any kind.’

Prowl motioned his head to the side and scratched at his temple. ‘No… of course not.’ As he said this, Prowl made a mental note to keep tabs on everyone moving in and out of the Command Center. ‘Then a spy perhaps? Could Soundwave’s spies learned to mass-displace into even smaller objects that we wouldn’t know to scan?’

Ultra Magnus seemed to like this theory best and waved a commanding servo. ‘I’ll have Searchlight run an investigation. In the meantime, Red Alert, I want you to lock down this sector, I think it’s safe as is, but I do not want to treat this situation lightly.’

Red Alert saluted and exited the room for more mechs as Prowl commanded a digit to the others involved. ‘Hotspot, Inferno, guard the doors, Huffer, fetch Pincher and Gears; have them take a sample of the corpse and dispose of it.’

Ultra Magnus nodded in satisfaction and proceeded out of the room. ‘Alright Autobots. Let’s get to work.’

Prowl considered following Ultra Magnus to the command room but thought against it, positioning himself outside as Red Alert returned with Searchlight, Pincher, Gears, Smokescreen, Groove and Aquafend, all armed and adding to the already growing crowd.

As the others worked-their-magic (as Smokescreen put it), Prowl checked his internal inbox.

“You have—TWO MISSED CALLS.”

                ‘Of course I do.’ He said to no one in particular. Accessing his messages, Prowl played out the first:

                _“Commander. This is Sonar, we destroyed the corrosive facility as you instructed. We have also dragged along four of the six Decepticon prisoners. One of them didn’t survive the blast and another died on the ride here. We just wanted to check in and update you before we board. Sonar out.”_

Prowl released his hand from his head and flung his hands into the air. ‘Finally! Someone I can rely on to keep me up to date on these things!’ The strategist proceeded down the hall, a natural skip in his step. He looked over his shoulder, raising his voice for the others to hear. ‘Unlike some people!’

Inferno scratched the back of his head. ‘What is his deal?’

Smokescreen sighed. ‘I like to think he was born with a pole in his ass.’

Out of earshot, Prowl listened to his second message, it was specially coded. A marking tool for messages sent by members of High Command. Prowl had his own, as did Red Alert and Ultra Magnus.

                “Prowl, this is Mirage. Call me as soon as you get this, there has been an event.”

Prowl rolled his optics and punched in a call for the Intelligence officer. The call rang once before Mirage’s familiarly silky voice came through. _“Prowl. There’s an urgent matter on our hands. I need you to come to the intelligence bureau ASAP.”_

Prowl smacked his lips wearily. ‘Now you listen here Mirage, today has been nothing but urgency after urgency—catastrophe over catastrophe. Whenever something goes bad, something new immediately pops up screaming “I’m worse!” So if you think whatever comes next is worth it, just know that my plate is already full, and that I am a _very_ picky eater.’

There was a pause over the other line. For the faintest moments, Prowl could hear a light sigh. _“You’ll want to hear this one.”_

                ‘Shorten it into three words or less. I hang up after the fourth.’

Mirage went silent once again, and in his typically cool voice, replied:

                _“Punch has returned.”_

As if nothing else mattered in the world, Prowl dropped his arms to his sides and sprinted forward, transforming and shifting into his Cybertronian police-car mode before roaring down the Hub’s hallways and towards the bureau.


	20. Evening at Autobot Command

                ‘Your friend fell asleep again…’

Scylla nudged Snaptrap awake once more as the four Seacons treaded through the Hub, dragged along by a jungle of glowing chains and cuffs. Snaptrap—as leader—was led before the others. It wasn’t so much that he was falling asleep as he was passing out from the shock. One moment he was a young aspirer on the planet Barbarossa, learning the tricks of the trade and swabbing decks for the hardy pirates he one-day dreamed to become. The next he was old—a heavy and cramped mess in an area that was all too alien to him. If that wasn’t confusing enough, his subsequent near death experience at the hands of a rail-gun (fired with little care as to if he were to survive or not) set him literally ablaze. The flames burned into his armor plating, singing and shrivelling nerve endings and connective tissue as he squirmed in open space. He passed out for the first time not long after that: specifically when he saw Scalor’s frozen expression float into his view. The fact that it was only his expression troubled him, beneath the Seacon’s chin was nothing else, and as the face rotated, the entire back-side of his skull revealed itself to have caved in and burned out leaving nothing left.

He couldn’t recall much of the ride to the Hub, either. He remembered some suited Autobots touching at his wrists, making sure he was secure, but following that was nothing more than pitch blackness. He wasn’t awake for it, but he had to assume Overbite didn’t make it either as he was no longer with them. He didn’t _know_ them, not anymore, but Snaptrap couldn’t help but mourn them for what it was worth.

Sonar halted in front of a large panel and raised a servo to the rear guards. ‘This is it, you are dismissed until further notice.’

The guards saluted in unison and went their separate ways, leaving the bounded prisoners alone with her. Sonar tapped a code into the door’s access panel and waited formally as they parted. Inside was a cramped little room with rows upon rows of work-tables, blanketed with assortments of cracked open machinery in all colours and sizes. The image reminded Sonar of a cafeteria, with fizzled technology and scraped apart metal replacing the Energon infused feasts the Hub used to cater. The room was mostly empty save for the shuffling of a white and green robot hidden in the back. The Autobot was hunched over and had what appeared to be the tails of a lab coat sprouting from his back. He had been tinkering away with something as his elbows jagged back and forth.

                ‘Wheeljack.’ Sonar addressed, tugging her prisoners along accordingly.

The Engineer made a rapid gesture over his head. ‘Yeahyeahyeah, I see you, just give me a minute.’

Snaptrap wondered how the Autobot could see despite facing the other way as Wheeljack smacked his hands together. A small, ball-like object levitated above his head and emitted an array of lights and sounds.

Sonar tilted her head to the side. ‘That’s… interesting. What is it?’

Squinting, Wheeljack tapped a digit lightly against the ball. ‘Huh, well it wasn’t supposed to do _that—.’_

The Engineer’s head was quickly engulfed in a small, purple fireball as the object exploded.

Too stunned to move, Sonar and the four remaining Seacons stared jaw-dropped as Wheeljack stood and dusted himself off. ‘Well.’ The inventor said. ‘That was disappointing.’

Sonar clasped her hands as she observed the shrapnel sticking out of his head. ‘Do I want to know why you thought that to be merely “disappointing”?’

                ‘Do you want to know why imploding an unlimited number of microscopic universes instead of creating a rechargeable snack dispenser is disappointing?’ He reached across his desk and grabbed a cube of Energon, tilting his head back. Wheeljack unsheathed his facemask and gulped down the pink contents before sealing his face once again.

Sonar shifted uncomfortably. ‘So that miniature explosion was…’

                ‘The heat-death of an uncountable amount of widely inhabited Universes yeah, a tragedy, boo-hoo, see you space cowboy, etc.’ He waved a theatrical hand as if to say “goodbye” before turning in his chair to face the others. ‘So what do you want from me? I’ve got a few spare cubes if you are having a bad day, I mean, they’re mine so—oh! You want me to take these guys and—?.’

                ‘Yes, Wheeljack.’

Wheeljack nodded and beckoned them over. ‘Alright, bring—just bring them here.’

Sonar did as he said and left the four Decepticons kneeling before the Chief Mechanical Engineer, their heads lowered and their optics left tracing the floor.

                ‘Good, you can go now— back to being Prowl’s yes man or delivery girl or whatever the hell you are.’

But Sonar was unfazed. ‘No.’ The ebony robot remained in the doorway, watching the Seacons as they kept themselves silent.

As Wheeljack pushed aside his equipment for specific tools, Snaptrap decided to speak. ‘So um… what are we _doing_ here?’

While the intended range of the question’s parameters were wider than any of them realized, Wheeljack was nonchalant to answer. ‘Simple, we Autobots and you Decepticons are different see? So we like to dissect your bodies and use your remains for spare parts. It bolsters our armory and gives us a better idea of what we’re facing.’

The Seacons were silent, eyeing each-other blankly, as if they couldn’t put two and two together quickly enough.

Wheeljack stared back at them, growing more peeved. ‘Guys—geez, it was just a joke! What. Can I not joke? What—where are we living? Is this, super serious-ville—? Where everyone says “stands to reason” and “paramount” even if there are a billion other—less pontificating ways of saying it? Screw you guys… we’re not evil here. Not all of us.’ He groaned and searched for the proper tool for the job, picking up what resembled a cleaver. ‘But seriously, I’m going to be taking you guys apart.’

\-----

                The process wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Snaptrap anticipated. In fact, he felt no pain whatsoever. Wheeljack used a variety of tools and equipment to peel the metal armor from each of the Seacons, starting with Snaptrap and followed by Nautilator. The Engineer picked out every piece of dysfunctional weaponry and sensory equipment that littered their systems, rendering them as nothing more than boney exoskeletons. Their bodies barely distinguishable outside of size-difference and the shape of their helms. Having finished Nautilator, Wheeljack unhooked the smaller robot from his surgery slab and allowed him to stand and stretch.

                ‘Huh…’ Nautilator cracked his fingers and whipped his head from Sonar to Wheeljack. ‘You Autobots are either naïve or stupid if you’re letting us walk around un-cuffed.’

                ‘Yeah?’ Wheeljack proceeded to remove the armor on Scylla. ‘Because you can kill me? Sure… go ahead buddy, try to punch me or transform. Try as your exoskeleton shatters upon impact, or when I use this armor deliberator to slice your body in half, or better yet, let my pal Sonar over there call upon any of the thousands of other Autobots aboard this space-station to come and gun you down. I’ve seen it tried a million times buddy. So if you need convincing you can go ahead and ask the million dead cons we had to eject from the station.’

Nautilator didn’t respond.

                ‘See?’ Wheeljack mused. ‘Who’s the dumb one now?’

                ‘Ahem.’ Scylla glared at Wheeljack from the slab.

                ‘What?’

                ‘You take off my specialty custom S.S. waist armor and I’ll have to kill you.’

Wheeljack let out another moan and scanned Scylla’s lower body for weaponry. ‘There, your short-shorts are free to stay….’ He shook his head, muttering to himself strenuously. ‘Stupid.’ He locked eyes with Sonar. ‘I was told there were five of them.’

                ‘Died the way here.’ Seawing answered.

                ‘Oh.’ Wheeljack unhooked her from her slab and made way for her to stand. She massaged her wrists and made an ugly face at him before retreating behind Snaptrap. Uncaring, Wheeljack turned his attention to Seawing and began peeling off the excess metal. ‘You know, you guys _can_ mourn… mourning exists. I mean, I _know_ you Decepticons have that whole alpha extreme machismo thing going on to keep up with appearances, but like—you don’t have to be stone cold… things—you don’t have to be stone cold.’

Scylla and Nautilator exchanged guilty glances as Snaptrap looked between them in confusion. Seawing made a “tch” noise with his teeth and raised his head—careful not to get in the way of modifications on his torso. ‘What does it matter, you’ve probably grounded up their bodies and used them for scrap anyways, why would _you_ care?’

Wheeljack waggled his cleaver at the Decepticon. ‘Balls-of-Primus Seawing, we’re not monsters! We just shove your people into coffins and eject them back into Decepticon space… that’s—I don’t know, I think that’s acceptable!’

                ‘And _this_ is what you do to the ones who survive…’ Scylla spat, clenching at her barren, skeletal wrists.

                ‘Hey it used to be worse, we used to remove your helms as well… under Delta Magnus we stripped you down to the bare bones and painted you head to toe in purple. The only distinction made between any of you was a barcode stamped on your forehead and the different levels of shock or fear written upon your faceplates. Now we just do the same with a helmet. Oh, and we stopped painting you too.’

Scylla’s optics narrowed. ‘How kind of you.’

Wheeljack sighed, unconvinced as to whether it was worth indulging in the prisoners. He didn’t care either way, but, admittedly, Wheeljack liked to talk. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you can inscribe their names on their coffins... make it easier to determine who they are for when they reach Decepticon command.’ Finishing his work on Seawing, Wheeljack unhooked the last Seacon and hovered a hand over his work desk as he used the other to gulp down another cube of Energon. His fingers wrestled over his workplace materials before grabbing at a pair of blank metal plates, tossing them carelessly at Scylla who caught them briskly with her left hand. She winced as the functions in her wrist began to sever.

                ‘Hey, are you alright?’ Seawing asked with legitimate concern.

She shook her head, unknowingly conveying the opposite of what she was trying to say. She stared at her spindly arm as wires began to snap under the weight of the plates. ‘No… I just… damn. He was right, everything I try to do hurts when I’m reduced to this state.’

Nautilator stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching and then cringing as pain rushed through them.

Wheeljack passed a laser-scalpel to Scylla, lowering it into the palm of her hand as gently as he could. He proceeded back into his seat and opened another cube of Energon. ‘Here, carve their names with this. Then get out.’

Scylla shrugged and wrapped her digits around the scalpel. The process of holding it as a pen proved itself to be one of the more difficult challenges of being reduced to an exoskeleton. She carved out the letters of Overbite’s name in Old Cybertronian. The original Cybertronian pronunciation was _“Jii Jii-akewn”._ Literally translating into _“Enlarged Denta”._ She used to tease him for it. Snaptrap too. She secretly cherished the times he blew a gasket raging at them, stomping off to his quarters as the five Seacons fell over laughing in a circle.Scylla carved out Archerbot’s name as neatly as she could, writing it in plain test as she was unsure of how it would translate to Old Cybertronian.

                ‘There.’ She handed the plates to Wheeljack. ‘You’ll put these on their coffins?’

Wheeljack snatched them from her harshly. He brought them up to his face and scanned the texts, his optics darting from side to side as he read the names. He took a sip of his cube and swallowed with visible difficulty. ‘Archerbot? His name was Archerbot?’

Seawing pressed a pair of digits against his lips. ‘Oh…’

                ‘His name’s not Archerbot.’

Their optics turned to Nautilator. The runt of the Seacons reached forward, motioning towards the plate. ‘We never called him by his real name.’

Seawing half-smiled at Wheeljack. ‘It was always Scalor.’

Wheeljack passed the plate to him in understanding. Scylla continued in motion and handed Nautilator the laser-scalpel. Turning around, Nautilator scraped the name into the slab of metal out of view from the others. Finished, Nautilator faced his comrades once again and revealed the nameplate to them. The name Archerbot was scratched out, and replacing it, in large, messy letters, was the name “Failor”.

Nautilator snickered, saying aloud: ‘LOL!’

Wheeljack rolled his optics and retrieved the nameplates. ‘Alright, I’ll be sure to file these away for later…’

                ‘It won’t matter.’ Scylla said dissatisfied.

Wheeljack squinted at her. ‘Why?’

                ‘You may shoot our dead back into Decepticon space… but we’ve never actually received them. Not once.’

Wheeljack didn’t budge. He took another sip from his cube of Energon as Backstreet and Dogfight returned to retrieve the Seacons.

                ‘I know.’

\-----

With the Seacons cell-bound, Wheeljack resumed his studies. Going through outdated manuals and textbooks, (both Imperious and Jhiaxian), searching for overlooked tricks and errors for potential reverse engineering. Things were going as they were supposed to, other than…

                ‘…The fact that you’re still here…’ He eyed Prowl’s lieutenant through glazed optics. ‘…it confuses me.’

Sonar remained in her straitened military stance, her dark figure looming over the engineer. ‘I wanted to wait until you were comfortable.’

Wheeljack poured himself another cube and brought the glass to his lips, gulping down the rest of the contents in preparation. ‘So…’ he wiped his mouth and re-attached his faceplate. ‘What does Prowl want with me this time?’

Sonar’s optics flared an emerald green. ‘He has called for a private meeting between half of High Command, as Chief Mechanical and Weapons Engineer that includes you.’

                ‘Private?’ Wheeljack rose to his feet. ‘Okay, but if it’s Prowl hosting this meeting, then I’m going to need another drink.’

\-----

                With the twelve members of High Command spread across space and the limited amount of bots he felt were mature enough to be briefed, Prowl split High Command into two mental columns: those he trusted to share the information with, and those he wanted to leave unaware until necessary. All but two were present. At Prowl’s side was the Autobot’s head of intelligence: Mirage. A blue and white Autobot with a thin waist and a buff chest. He had been staring at the others with an air of disinterest. Sitting across from them at the roundtable were Perceptor and Botanica. The former was a thin, red and black Autobot scientist with blocky shoulders and a gold, glasses-like apparatus placed upon his face. There was a glowing yellow depression in his head and a large red cannon on his back. He was going through some reports with Botanica, exchanging data-pads and comparing notes passively. Botanica was not your average built Cybertronian, having a single, dress-shaped, appendage where her legs were meant to be (Not even Perceptor knew how that worked). Unlike most other Cybertronians, Botanica also had two extra arms sprouting from her waist which she used to sort the data-pads accordingly. Her head was hooded by a green kibbled appendage that covered most of her face, however the look of annoyance spread across her lips was as clear as day.

                ‘Are we really doing this?’ Mirage had his arms folded, refusing to make eye-contact with Prowl. ‘We’re lying to Magnus about this?’

                 ‘It’s not lying, Mirage, not yet. Magnus is an honest and trustworthy leader. He’s got admirable traits, but I’m afraid they’ll be the death of him. If we let the information from this room reach his ears then he may very well want to go public with what we’ve found, and all that will do is open a whole new box of problems.’

Mirage raised his upper lip. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to be _too_ despicable then.’

Prowl stared at his chronometer and frowned. ‘Wheeljack should be on his way… and Ratchet? I sent him a message about an hour ago, he isn’t usually this tardy.’

Perceptor cleared his throat from the roundtable. ‘In actuality, Ratchet left the Hub earlier this morning. He volunteered to partake in some research with Siren.’ The Head of Science clasped his hands together. ‘I believe it was something in regards to a “memory plague…?”’

Botanica cracked her knuckles passively. ‘Sounds fake.’

                ‘You know what else is fake?’

The four High Command members turned their attention to the door. Leaning in the frame was Wheeljack, examining his fingertips upper-classily. He jabbed one of them at Botanica. ‘The Imperium’s education system, but we still have protoforms coming in and out of there like a bunch of—’ He burped. ‘—like a bunch of conformist robots.’

Sonar entered the cylindrical room from behind, casually pushing Wheeljack aside and taking her place next to Prowl. ‘I brought him as you asked.’ She made a gesture as if to apologize for bringing him drunk which Prowl easily dismissed.

                ‘Good work, Sonar.’ Prowl nodded, moving to the round-table and leaning against it with the palms of his hands. ‘With Ratchet absent, this meeting will have to proceed on schedule. Have a seat if you wish.’

                ‘So what _is_ this all about anyway?’ Wheeljack wondered as he pulled out a chair next to Perceptor.

Prowl put a hand on Mirage’s shoulder. ‘Mirage here has a friend who he’d like to introduce to you all.’

He slapped at Prowl’s servo. ‘Don’t touch me.’

Botanica scanned the room. ‘An urgent meeting in the shadows… hidden from half of High Command including Ultra Magnus himself. There’s no way there isn’t a catch to this, besides, Mirage doesn’t have any friends.’

Mirage snapped his fingers at the alien-like Autobot. ‘You’re one to talk, _hybrid._ ’

She stood from her chair. ‘You did _not_ just call me that! He did not just call me that! Here I thought we lived in a slur-free environment!’

Prowl clapped his hands together. ‘Alright, if Mirage and Botanica want to stop acting like children, I’d like to skip to the matter of importance.’

Botanica slumped back into her seat. ‘The lack of respect around here… so infuriating.’

Prowl turned to adjacent entrance and lifted a beckoning servo. ‘You can come in now, Hubcap.’

The small yellow Autobot came into view, pushing along a red cloaked trolley. He waved a shaking servo to the others.

                ‘Hey Hubcap.’ Wheeljack greeted with a wave.

Perceptor leaned over the table towards Prowl. ‘We _know_ Hubcap.’

Prowl slapped his servos against his audio receptors and wrinkled his face. ‘Are you all pretending to be stupid? Because that’s what it feels like right now.’

The Autobots glared at Prowl in offence.

He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, Hubcap here is only transferring the Autobot in question. I wanted to keep him hidden before any of you started jumping to conclusions. That said, I bid that you keep calm… now, I’d like to introduce you…’

Hubcap yanked on the red cloak as if he were pulling aside a curtain. Underneath was a yellow and blue Autobot of average build. He was strapped to a slab with his face forward, either oblivious to, or unaffected by what was going on.

                ‘…to Punch.’

They stared at the Autobot, who stared back as if the six Autobots were the ones left on display.

                ‘I’m sorry.’ Botanica faced Prowl, her widened optics glowing from within her hood. ‘But I don’t know who this is.’

                ‘This is Punch.’ Prowl explained, moving next to the bound Autobot. ‘He was “killed” in 1984.’ Realizing he was still using his old, earthen way of telling the years, Prowl cleared his throat and clarified. ‘Sixty years ago.’

                ‘Okay.’ Wheeljack folded his arms. ‘So what, he’s a zombie? Been there done that. I already singlehandedly fought a zombie army led by Lord Imperious Delirious last week in a different dimension.’ He said, truthfully.

Prowl waved a dismissive servo. ‘Again… pretending to be stupid…’ He massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘No, Punch here was taken in by myself and trained under Mirage as a spy. You see, he’s been working undercover for us under the alias of Counterpunch.’

                _‘Counterpunch?’_ Wheeljack jumped from his chair. ‘The Decepticon powerhouse _Counterpunch_ has been working for us?’

                ‘Indeed.’ Perceptor nodded. ‘I was present for the briefing.’

                ‘But Counterpunch is a notorious killer!’ Botanica protested. ‘He murdered thousands of Autobots in battle, burned plenty of our outposts!’

                ‘A convincing display…’ Perceptor said solemnly. ‘For the record, Punch and Counterpunch are two distinctive beings in a single vessel, their processor units intertwine in conjecture to the Jhiaxian Legion theorem, combined with Beachcomber’s prophetic enlightenment texts, the nature of the oddity is best described under the Hell’s Point principle as a “Nurtured Birth” as seen with the cases of Rack n’ Ruin and Doublecross. The equation itself is simply put W^34>8x -9. Separating the degrees of the entwined modules as—.’

                ‘It’s complicated.’ Prowl burst, politely motioning at Perceptor to shut up. ‘Counterpunch is a separate being that takes dominant control when Punch accesses his secondary robot mode. Fortunately, Punch has a wide degree of influence in Counterpunch’s actions and knows how to keep his mouth shut about his status as a spy.’

                ‘I can’t say I know everything he knows.’ Punch added, he sounded as though he hadn’t slept for decades. ‘He’ll have to tell you himself, I can only affirm whether what he says is the truth or not.’

Perceptor brought a digit beneath his chin. ‘If this is indeed the case, then I must inquire— if I recall correctly, Punch was only to return under three specific circumstances. 1. Should is identity as a spy ever be compromised, 2. Should he have information so crucial that it must be transferred in person, and 3. Should he succeed in his main objective of assassinating Megatron.’

High Command, (plus Sonar and Hubcap) turned their attention to the spy in question.

Punch tilted his head. ‘I wasn’t found out. Counterpunch led a crew against an outpost, held it for a few days and was taken down by a team led by Sentinel Prime after I had broadcasted my signal. He killed three of Prime’s men before getting it to the neck himself. According to Decepticon intelligence, Counterpunch is currently locked comfortably in the Orbital Hub’s prison hold with the rest of his team.’

                ‘But since he’s not.’ Prowl offered a hand to Botanica. ‘You working your magic would be _very_ helpful.’

The green robot rolled her optics and stood, slithering fluidly out from her chair and next to Punch. A thorn-like appendage sprouted from each of her four palms. She turned to Mirage and exposed a bitter grin. ‘Why the look? I was born in the Age of Expansion remember? “Hybrid” you like to call it.’

Mirage snorted, turning his head aside.

She inserted the thorns into each of Punch’s limbs. The Autobot didn’t budge, but his face displayed a look of clear distress.

                ‘There.’ Botanica released her thorns. ‘He’s immobilized, save for his transformation cog.’

Punch blinked. ‘Oh, in that case I’ll just let myself—.’ The Autobot’s body shifted and roared into a mass of metal, violently taking a similar shape. The yellow on his body was sucked into a back cavity, replacing itself with ebony armor. His optics were covered by a thick crimson visor as the Autobot symbol on his chest was thoroughly melted and replaced with that of a Decepticon’s. Counterpunch was pushed back onto his slab, his head wriggling on his shoulders as his body lied dead still.  ‘Hello, y’all.’

                ‘Counterpunch I presume.’ Prowl stepped forward, placing himself inches from the Decepticon’s face. ‘Would you care to explain what you’ve found?’

Counterpunch chuckled audibly, craning his neck in order to face Mirage. ‘This is your boss? What a cock.’

Prowl retreated his head. ‘What.’

                ‘We’re equal rank, truly.’ Mirage pardoned a servo, a hint of spite in his voice that sounded as though it were directed at Prowl. ‘Please, if you could give us your reasoning for coming back then it would save us all _so_ much time.’

The Decepticon’s voice was shrill, it seemed to carry an air of reluctance and disgust, regardless of how ecstatic his words really were. ‘Oh don’t worry, I have been looking forward to this moment more than you know.’ He cleared his throat, coming close to giggling from the excitement. ‘About two or three weeks ago, Megatron was found dead.’

Prowl almost leaped, his expression flickering as he processed the information.

                ‘You killed him?’ Perceptor demanded.

                ‘I didn’t. It was another.’

                ‘Who?’ Prowl was nearly shouting. ‘Starscream, Ratbat, Soundwave? Who killed him?!’

                ‘It was an Autobot, a Prime. There is a bounty placed on the killer’s head: whoever kills him gains the power to name themselves, their commander, or any other Decepticon crowned leader of the Empire.’

                ‘Megatron’s dead…’ Mirage stared at his hands. ‘I would never have… he’s finally…’

Botanica and Perceptor sat silent, awaiting further explanation. Hubcap was partially grinning, knowing this to be good news but was unsure of if a celebration was required, or wanted. Sonar remained calm in the face of change, while Wheeljack looked quite bored with the whole ordeal, as if he would already have guessed.

                ‘Who is this Autobot?’ Prowl’s solemn expression appeared to flicker.

                ‘Let him tell you himself.’ Counterpunch’s visor glowed from a dark red to a light pink as it flared into a beam against the ceiling. The light began to take shape and form the image of a figure. An Autobot. ‘We recently received a broadcast from the Autobot admitting his crime. You might recognize him…’

_“To all of you out there who don’t know me, my name, is Optimus Prime. I was born over 3,000 years ago on Planet Cybertron before the Fulcrum Bombings that tore it apart. I have since acted in a minor role in the war as the least productive Prime in history. To those who already know who I am, then you are well aware that I was the one who killed Megatron...”_

\-----

_Five minutes later…_

                ‘Okay.’ As Counterpunch transformed back into Punch, Prowl took the stage. ‘Now that we are aware of this, I would like to focus on the positive aspects in this event.’

Perceptor nodded. ‘Yes, well—I suppose Megatron’s demise is bound to be plentiful. All things considered.’

Prowl nodded back at him. ‘Precisely, now, what advantages can we gain from this—what opportunities are now made available to us?’

Perceptor appeared lost. ‘I don’t see what—.’

                ‘What opportunities?’ Mirage repeated.

Wheeljack let out an audible groan, rising from his seat where he stood over the others. ‘Let’s cut the crap, we all know what Prowl’s trying to say.’ He scanned their faces for a signal, or at the very least a clue as to who was going to explain as he was sure as hell Prowl wasn’t. ‘He wants Counterpunch to kill Optimus and take over the Decepticon Empire—placing it under Autobot control.’

Botanica leaped from her seat. ‘Prowl!’

Prowl raised a commanding digit towards Wheeljack, his face wrinkled with anger. ‘Get out.’

                ‘What?’

                ‘Get out.’

The engineer flung his hands in the air. ‘So that’s it! Because you just can’t take it when someone predicts you instead of the other way around, you remove them from the larger equation?’

                ‘I SAID GET OUT, NOW!’

The door had slammed shut before Prowl had even finished. Left before him were the faces of five confused Autobots, all staring at him with different levels of disgust and pity. Prowl hated it.

                ‘Optimus Prime is—was—has been my best friend. I would never even _consider_ killing him.’

                ‘I was being too discreet, what I was trying to get at is whether we should withhold this information from the public or not. If we tell them that Megatron is dead then there is the potential that it might turn us… sloppy.’

                ‘Or it could boost morale.’ Botanica interjected. ‘Primus knows we need it, and I somehow doubt the Civilian Autobot Guilds would be happy to hear we’ve been keeping such information from them.’

                ‘We’re not lying to anyone.’ Mirage agreed. ‘Definitely not, we go public. The word is bound to spread either way and if Magnus finds out we’ve been keeping secrets then it could end badly for all of us.’

Perceptor stood from his chair, his palm pressed against the roundtable. ‘Then it’s settled. We tell Magnus and let the word spread.’

Botanica stared at Prowl, his digits were creating small indents in the table as he pressed down. ‘Any objections, Prowl?’

                ‘Oh, no. I completely agree, the information is too volatile, and if the public learns of it after the fact then the backlash could be just… severe. Though for utilization purposes, I think it would be a good idea to keep Optimus’s identity classified.’

                ‘Of course.’ Mirage said with a nod. ‘The public should understand that much. It’s for his own safety.’

                ‘Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, he _should_ be celebrated as a hero, but until we win, I don’t see anything happening of the sort.’

                ‘Are we in contact with him?’ Hubcap asked, helping Punch out of his binds.

Prowl turned his gaze to the outer net computer in the corner of the room. ‘Funny you should mention it. No. I’ve assigned Blaster and even Hound to track his Ark. Nothing. He’s practically disappeared off the face of the Galaxy.’

                ‘I doubt he’s dead.’ Punch said, massaging his wrists. ‘The whole Decepticon army is hunting him down—if the bounty has been fulfilled then I would have received a notification on the new High Protector. Unless of course he…’ Punch shaped his hand like a gun and fingered the side of his head. ‘Bang.’

Botanica made a grotesque face. ‘You’ve been with the Decepticons too long, it seems.’

Punch shrugged.

Mirage tapped a finger against his upper lip in thought. ‘We should send some scouts… supply Optimus Prime with protection and bring him back to the Command Hub.’

Prowl made a half-smile. ‘If we can find him, then by all means.’

                ‘Have you tried calling him since?’ Sonar suggested.

Prowl opened his mouth to dismiss her, but paused. Pondering to himself before stepping in front of the computer terminal and tapping in the familiar number.

\-----

                ‘I never get invited to these things…’

Hoist sat outside the Council Room’s doors, fingering at the floor idly. Pipes was kneeling next to him, muttering something to himself.

                ‘Why don’t I ever get invited to these things? I’m important. Maintenance is important.’

Pipes didn’t respond, he remained whispering to himself as he drew patterns on the floor.

The doors opened and Wheeljack stepped out, eyeing the oil-covered mechanic before moving on his way. Hoist grabbed the Engineer by the ankle, pulling himself on to his feet. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

                ‘Better you don’t know.’ Wheeljack stared at Pipes, enhancing his audio receptors to hear his speech.

_‘When he comes home, he will answer.’_

Wheeljack frowned at the small, blue robot and shook his head. ‘He’s still having problems I see… Hoist, you should get back to work.’

The green robot pressed his digits together awkwardly. ‘That’s—Okay.’

The Engineer abandoned Hoist and continued down the hall. ‘We’ll have very little free time from now on.’

\-----

Prowl, Mirage, Perceptor, Botanica, Sonar, Hubcap and Punch stood gathered around a single terminal, their heads nudging at each-other as they tried to get a better look at the screen.

                ‘He’s not going to answer.’ Prowl decided.

                ‘Way to be optimistic.’

                ‘Shut up, Hubcap.’

                ‘It’s rung four times now.’ Mirage noted. ‘I tend to hang up after the third.’

                ‘Just give it a minute.’ Botanica assured.

The terminal rang a fifth time. ‘This is ridiculous.’ Prowl hovered a hand above the “END CALL” switch. ‘He hasn’t answered before, he won’t answer now—‘

                ‘Prime residence, Optimus speaking.’

The visage of the blue and red Autobot materialized on the screen. His optics darting between the plethora of faces stretched on his monitor. ‘Oh, hey Prowl. And Hubcap… and Perceptor, Botanica, Sonar, Punch, Mirage…’

Each replied with a nod.

                ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

Prowl cleared his throat. ‘Um… yeah, yes. It has reached our knowledge that you…’

                ‘Killed Megatron?’

The Autobots all flinched in unison, taking surprise to Prime’s bluntness.

                ‘Yeah… you were going to find out sooner or later.’

                ‘Yeah…’ Prowl said, trying to sound as professional as possible.

There was silence between the comms, and for moments, the eight Autobots were left staring at each other blankly.

                ‘Is there a problem?’ Optimus asked.

                ‘No… no! Not at all!’ Botanica said, waving a hand in front of the screen.

                ‘We merely wanted to supply you with the proper protection. Escort you back to the Hub perhaps.’ Perceptor suggested.

Optimus shook his head. ‘No need. I have a few others with me and they know how to fight. Team Prime itself is an officially registered guild and the Ark is a certified base of operations. In short, I am getting by .just’

Prowl furrowed his brow. ‘You really want to go without any help whatsoever?’

Prime shook his head. ‘Look. I do not want any of your soldiers on my ship. If I give my location away to anyone, I could die, and if any one of your people figures out how I am masking my signature, everyone could get hurt. I’m all up for help, but I’ll only take it from someone I trust, and for the record, I don’t trust any of you. Besides…’ He closed his eyes and tilted back his head in a pretentious manner. ‘I wish-not for anyone to get hurt from my own actions... Anyone who dares follow my dangerous path will be plunged into a pit of pain and darkness. My life is a danger… like a carnivorous... feline—’

                ‘Enough.’ Prowl said, too tired for another one of Prime’s speeches. ‘If you wish to remain under the radar and out of sight, then that’s your choice. I won’t do anything about it. Just don’t do anything… bizarre, and we won’t interfere.’

                ‘Agreed.’

Voices could be heard from the other end of Prime’s comm. ‘Prime! Blackarachnia’s stolen from the snack supply again!’

                ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’ Optimus sighed. ‘Talk to you never.’

The feed was cut, and the seven Autobots were left staring at a blank screen.

                ‘Well.’ Prowl backed away from the monitor, clasping his hands together. ‘That went generally well.’

                ‘I can get some bots to make a search—keep an optic on him. It’ll take some work but I’m confident he can be found.’ Mirage said.

                ‘For his sake, I hope not.’

                ‘Hey uh… quick question.’ Punch’s legs were shivering. He looked out of place with the rest of them. ‘What am I supposed to do…? I’ve kind of been living with the Decepticons for…’ He blinked. ‘…for I don’t know how long… I think… a few years r—no. A few… weeks?’ His head fell into his hands.

Perceptor glanced uneasily towards Prowl. ‘He’ll need some rehabilitating.’

                ‘No kidding.’ Prowl rested an easy hand on Punch’s shoulder. ‘You should stay on-site for now, play some catch-up— _relax._ Consider yourself dismissed.’ He craned his head to the others. ‘That goes for everyone, this meeting is adjourned.’

Without a moment’s notice, Botanica and Perceptor had made their way out of the council chambers alongside Punch, guarding him like he were a person of interest. Sonar and Hubcap remained at Prowl’s side, awaiting orders as Mirage conversed with him.

                ‘We have many of Counterpunch’s operatives under lock and key—Runamuck, Runabout, Pounce… they all think their leader is imprisoned with him. It seems almost too good to be true.’

Prowl gestured for them to move, and the four Autobots continued down the Hub’s corridors. ‘You doubt Punch’s judgement?’

                ‘It’s not that. You see, I used to major in economics, the price of things… well, I was a master at it. The price of life it took to get Punch here, let alone to keep him secret…’

                ‘Flinch, Bull-Dor, Upstream…’

                ‘I beg your pardon?’

                ‘Megamile, Forkloader, Nine-Volt, I can go on Mirage.’

Mirage turned to Hubcap for support.

                ‘Don’t look at me, half he says is incoherent babble on my end.’

Sonar didn’t budge her composure. ‘Let him finish.’

                ‘They’re names. The names of our dead.’ Prowl explained. ‘We make sacrifices every minute of every day, Mirage. Many of the names off the top of my head just now were Autobots killed by Counterpunch…. They are as great a mass of heroes as Leo Prime was. Their purposes were of greater importance than you and I could ever possibly amount to.’

                ‘Their purpose to die?!’

                ‘Counterpunch won us the Surge, thanks to him, none of us are limbless playthings for the DJD right now— and we both know he is only scratching the surface.’ Prowl stared at the ceiling as he walked. His optics darting from side to side. ‘We’ve entered a new stage in the war, a stage where the possibilities are endless, where it could potentially, _potentially,_ come to an end. If we want to be the ones left standing, we need to be clever. The cleverest. We’ve moved on from fighting with words and guns—with rage and muscle—we need to do more than that. From now on, we live in a war of processor over matter.’

\-----

In the Hub’s docking bay, tens of Autobot ships returned. Like passengers at a train station, Autobots of all shapes and sizes passed throughout in large groups. Some completely hidden. A small, squat Autobot named Brawn strutted in, bragging to his tiny companion Brains about all sorts of wounds he got in his last encounter with Rumble and Frenzy. Whether it was unknown to them or not, a small, rectangular red box sat idly on his shoulder, there was a single purple blip of light flashing from its crevice. A nearby Autobot briefly nodded to the light before carrying out their duties.

Lights flashed in all areas of the Hub, brightly forming a single image that danced in the night sky above the planet Opulus.

 

 

 


	21. Talon IV

Blackarachnia could hear the sound of her own breath within the quiet hum of Prime’s quarters. The room was a cramped space and nearly pitched black save for the red outline of Prime. Blackarachnia clenched the blade between her servos and listened for a sign of conscious movement. Nothing. Lifting the sharpened object above her head with one hand, she moved her other towards the sleeping Prime only for a pair of bright, blue optics to snap open across Optimus’s faceplate. Spotting the gleam of a knife, the Autobot leaped from his recharge slab, clapping his hands together and activating the overhead lights. The room illuminated, blinding Blackarachnia’s optics and resulting in her dropping the blade.

                ‘Whoa!’ Optimus hurdled over his slab and unfolded his axe, battle ready.

                Blackarachnia massaged her four optics and extended a servo towards the tenacious Autobot. ‘Wait! This isn’t what it looks like, I swear—.’

                Optimus banged the hilt of his axe against his slab. ‘Ironhide! Blackarachnia is trying to kill me!’

                ‘What!?’ Ironhide’s head popped out from underneath the recharge slab. ‘I freaking knew it!’

                Blackarachnia raised her hands above her head. ‘Okay, first of all, I wasn’t trying to kill you, second of all...’ she stared at Ironhide skeptically. ‘Why are you under Prime’s bed? Were you there this whole time?’

Ironhide brandished a digit towards her. ‘Don’t change the subject, Decepticon!’

                ‘Wait, is this where you sleep?’

                Optimus leaned over the slab to face Ironhide. ‘There is no shame in the duty of a fully-fledged bed bro.’ the two robots slammed their fists together, shouting in unison. ‘BED BROS!’

                Ironhide nodded loyally. ‘I got your back, bed-bro. No monsters under the bed tonight.’ He grinned. ‘Except for me.’

                Blackarachnia shook her head. ‘This is why I sleep in a jail cell instead.’

                ‘Anyways!’ Optimus thrusted his axe forward, locking it inches below the ex-Decepticon’s chin. ‘What is your _deal?_ ’

                Blackarachnia’s optics narrowed. ‘Pick up what I dropped and see for yourself.’

                ‘Done.’ Ironhide, still lying beneath the slab, had lifted the sharp object above his head, handing it to Optimus.

                ‘It looks like a knife.’

                ‘Well spoiler alert: It’s not, take a closer look.’

Optimus squinted his optics. ‘Don’t tell me…’

                ‘It’s a shopping discount card. One that’s _shaped_ like a knife.’ She said, truthfully.

                Optimus raised the card to the light. ‘But… _why?_ Who designs a card like this?’ he tapped his index finger against its tip. ‘It’s sharp too. Wait a second, this can _absolutely_ substitute for a knife!’

                ‘Oh, I heard of those.’ Ironhide said, snapping his fingers. ‘Yeah, the folks at Talon IV were sick of the crime rates and decided to turn their currency into weapons for self-defence! Want to steal a purse? Good luck except—oh that’s right, thanks to its built-in scimitars, you no longer have any fingers.’

                Optimus flipped the card around. ‘It’s so inconvenient…’ He retreated his axe, folding it back into his lower arm. ‘…yet everything considered—completely believable. If what Ironhide says is true, I owe you an apology, Blackarachnia.’

                Blackarachnia let her arms drop and exhaled. ‘ _Thank you_ … I found it back when I was raiding Snaptrap’s ship. Stepped on it really. I still have the scar on my foot…’ She shook her head. ‘But seriously, I just checked the radar and it turns out we’ll be passing over Talon IV in about an hour. So like, we can stop by its _legendary_ shopping center and pick up some supplies if everyone’s up for it.’

                ‘Sounds like a plan.’ Optimus stared at Ironhide, who casually remained beneath the bed. ‘Any objections?’

                He snorted, staring down Blackarachnia from below. ‘I just don’t get why some people are checking the radar at four in the morning.’

                ‘I live in a prison cell. It doesn’t make it much easier to sleep.’

                ‘Oh. Fair enough.’

                The three robots remained where they were, silent. Optimus cleared his throat. ‘So uh… Ironhide, you wouldn’t happen to be—.’

                ‘Stuck under the bed? Yes.’ He stretched his arms up towards them. ‘Mind pulling me out?’

\-----

 Talon IV, a planet once flourishing with history and culture stemming from a lost-civilization—long since stripped away and terraformed to make room for the galaxy’s industrial development. On one side of the planet was a well-populated area consisting of a maze of market’s and shopping districts and living quarters populated by a plethora of alien species, on the other was a vast wasteland of nothingness. Thundercracker liked the latter side better, and that’s just where he found himself.

                 Fixing his goggles back over his optics, Thundercracker returned to his self-appointed duties of polishing Skywarp’s stasis tube.

                ‘Is he still unwell?’ Obsidian asked, hovering over the blue Seeker.

                ‘Yeah, kind of.’ He tapped at a panel and the horizontal tube opened upwards, exposing Skywarp’s body to the warm, Talonian air. ‘He’s better than before actually. It shouldn’t take long for him to return to his senses.’

                ‘I see.’ Obsidian had been staring at Starscream, the Seeker commander was sitting in his makeshift throne (Thundercracker had built it himself using tree branches and glue). He was facing the other way, concealing his face from the others.

                ‘Starscream eh?’ Thundercracker noticed, motioning to the commander. ‘What do you reckon he’s thinking of?’

                ‘ _Something,_ hopefully.’ Obsidian hovered towards him but stopped. Something seemed off. ‘Hm… Strika?’

                The large robot blinked out of her daydream, nodded and placed herself in front of Starscream, staring at him in disbelief. ‘Oh you’ve _got_ to be kidding me!’

                Thundercracker whipped his head between the two Decepticons. ‘What, he’s not dead is he? _That_ wouldn’t make any sense…’

                ‘Asleep…’ Strika clapped her hands together over the seeker’s head, snapping him awake.

                Starscream let out a yawn and dragged a lazy digit over his optic. ‘Do you mind?’

                ‘Do _you?_ Is this really a time for… for _naps?!_ ’ She pointed a meaty digit towards the empty sandy landscape. _‘_ We are stuck here wasting our time in the middle of nowhere. All the while our enemies continue to escape our grasp. But then there’s you: acting as though you are on some kind of vacation!’

                ‘Your point?’

                Strika clenched her hands into fists, resisting the urge to beat Starscream down. ‘My point is that you’re unfit! The Prime is nowhere in sight and we are _still_ stranded in neutral space!’

                ‘Strika…’ Obsidian placed a spindly servo on his cohort’s shoulder. ‘Allow me.’ The hovering Decepticon cleared his throat, clasping his hands neatly behind his back as he leaned towards his commander. ‘Starscream, I believe that I speak for all of us when I say we’d have an easier time sleeping at night if you were to brief us as to how you expect to ensnare the Prime.’

                Starscream folded his arms over his chest and squinted at the Decepticon. ‘You’re asking if I have a plan.’

                ‘To summarize, yes.’

                ‘To summarize, I totally do. Why do you ask?’ He leaned forward from his “throne”, drawing his face closer to Obsidian’s. ‘What, are you saying you have a better plan of attack? If so… then good. It is _your_ job as strategist after all.’

                ‘Starscream, please. I am one of the most decorated military geniuses in the Decepticon hierarchy. I have won countless battles, taught some of the most sophisticated of plays to some of the most notoriously single-minded gun-fondlers. I have even inspired strategies that are being adopted by the Autobots themselves. I’ve plenty of plans tucked away in my head, but that… that is for when we actually _achieve_ in our goal of _locating_ him, first.’ The strategist pressed a thin digit against Starscream’s chest, pushing him back into his throne. ‘It is _your_ job as the leader of the Seekers to, how should I put it: _Seek_ the Prime out. I theorize battle strategies, ways to eliminate targets. It is the Seeker’s duty to find those targets ahead of time.’

                Starscream clasped his hands together, staring at the flying Decepticon through fiery orange optics. ‘Are you done?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Good. Now please, take a seat as I explain how dumb you are.’

                Neither Obsidian nor Strika reacted. Thundercracker pretended to be busy working on Skywarp, as to keep himself uninvolved.

                Starscream pushed against the arms of his makeshift throne and lifted himself to his feet. ‘First, riddle me this, what do you see around you?’

                Strika craned her head around skeptically. ‘Sand… dirt… some weeds—tumbleweeds. Oh hey, there’s a tree.’

                ‘Et tu, Obsidian?’

                ‘Nothing. Nothing of value whatsoever.’

                A cat-like grin spread across Starscream’s face. ‘Now, what _should_ you be seeing around you. Not what’s there now—but what _should_ be here in its place.’

                Strika pondered this for a moment, though Obsidian responded with a blunt: ‘I don’t know.’

                ‘Oh I’m sorry. If your tiny, baby, minds don’t understand, then I suppose I’ll just have to explain myself.’ He gestured to the landscape around him. ‘Purple hallways, wayward computers alight with battle stats and target visuals, soldiers marching obediently through the corridors, sharing information as they equip for battle with path blasters and fusion rifles. That is what remains to be seen—that’s where we belong. We’re not searching for Optimus Prime because we won’t, it’s because we can’t, not in this condition. Don’t get me wrong, Astrotrain is a very… nice, individual. But we cannot afford to keep calling him up whenever we want to be somewhere.’

                Obsidian drew a digit to his chin. ‘Go on.’

                Starscream bared his teeth as he released a small, ball-like object from his grasp. The orb sputtered in the air before splitting apart and forming a large, violet hologram; taking the form of the symbolic flagship of the Decepticon battle fleet. ‘I have a plan take back the Nemesis.’

                Obsidian seemed unsure. ‘The Nemesis? The most heavily fortified ship in the Decepticon armada? …Any idea where to look?’

                ‘Not to worry, I have already gone over the details with Soundwave…’

                Strika folded her arms. ‘How did that go?’

                ‘Quite well actually.’ Starscream said hesitantly.

\-----

_Four hours earlier… A Pit stop in Neutral space..._

                ‘I HATE YOU!’

Soundwave’s hologram shone brightly in the dark. ‘Considering how long we have been forced to behave in one another’s presence, I can assure you the feeling is mutual.’

                ‘Oh don’t you act like we’re on equal footing here, Soundwave. You’re living the dream as leader of the Decepticons while I’m out here breaking my back trying to find Megatron’s killer on backwater planet after backwater planet. It’s all grits and glory to you, and organic waste matter for me.’

                ‘Then I see we are both precisely where we belong.’

                ‘I—.’ Starscream stopped, realizing where Soundwave was getting at. He punched through the hologram, his breath-rate escalating. ‘I’m going to kill you the next chance I get.’

                ‘No you won’t.’

                ‘And just why—.’

                ‘Because I’m willing to give you what you want _.’_

Starscream settled his breathing. ‘That’s a broad spectrum. And just what do I _want?_ ’

                ‘You tell me. I can’t read your mind—not from halfway across the galaxy.’

                The Seeker commander turned away from the transmission. ‘Respect… That’s it, I want the very respect I lost around the time I lost the Nemesis.’

Soundwave went silent.

                ‘What? What are you thinking?’

                ‘I just find your answer… off-putting—See, I thought you wanted leadership.’

                Starscream stared into the middle distance. ‘Soundwave… I don’t want leadership. Not for the sake of leading anyway, maybe I did once before but… I thought you knew that.’ He shook his head. ‘No. I want to lead because I know it’s the last thing Megatron would want. I want to lead because Megatron would despise the notion—it would be the ultimate revenge fantasy. The day I take control of the Decepticons is the day I take a metaphoric piss on Megatron’s grave.’

                Soundwave’s visor narrowed. ‘How suave. Concerning the Nemesis… I had a small chat with Slipstream not too long ago. ‘Gave her information regarding the possible whereabouts of Optimus Prime.’

                ‘You’re giving out hints?!’

                ‘Only to those with the currency for it.’

                Starscream folded his arms. ‘I can’t believe this…Alright then, tell me what you told her.’

                ‘I told her there were sightings of an Ark-class spaceship nearing Talon IV.’

                ‘And this is true?’

                ‘I don’t know. According to my sources there is…’

                Starscream cracked his fingers. ‘Then that’s where they’ll both be.’ He planned out a set of co-ordinates in his head, stopping only momentarily to consider his own source. ‘Something’s… no.’

                ‘Pardon?’

                Starscream pressed the tip of his index finger against the hologram. ‘Why are you telling me all this? What do you expect is going to happen?

                ‘I expect no payment from you, Starscream.’

                ‘That’s not what I mean, what do _you_ gain from giving me this advantage? Unless…’ A grin curled across Starscream’s lips. ‘Oh. I see now.’

                ‘I have my own reasons, Starscream.’

                ‘You think Slipstream is about to win, don’t you?’

                Soundwave didn’t move.

                ‘That’s it then, you don’t want Slipstream to win! But why? Why her specifically? Or is it even personal to begin with? Do you fear the inevitability of someone stealing leadership from you?’

                Soundwave relaxed and lowered his shoulders. ‘Starscream, you are an endless source of single-mindedness.’ He raised a large servo over his head. ‘This goes beyond whatever you believe in, conqueror, until then, the Nemesis, and Optimus, are yours to take. Do as you wish.’ He lowered his hand, and the Hologram dissipated, leaving Starscream alone once again.

\-----

_Now_

                ‘Okay, wait one darned minute. Why don’t we just kill Prime before they do?’

                Starscream, Obsidian and Strika stopped and stared at Thundercracker. He wrung his hands together over Skywarp’s cannisters as he tried to explain himself. ‘The reason Slipstream is here is because of Optimus. Shouldn’t we be here for the same reason?’

                Starscream snickered to himself as he approached his fellow Seeker. ‘Thundercracker, Thundercracker, Thundercracker… We have to kill Optimus before Slipstream does. Unless we are lucky—that is, lottery winning levels of lucky and manage to shoot Prime down beforehand, Slipstream will use her massive flagship literally built to raze worlds to eviscerate him off the face of the Universe. In short we’re going to need to take the Nemesis for ourselves.’

                ‘We won’t be able to.’ Strika said, reluctantly. ‘Soundwave said that if any Decepticons try killing each other, we’ll have uh, _death_ to answer to. Not his exact words but generally speaking…’

                He raised a hand to the bulky Decepticon. ‘He also said we were allowed to defend ourselves. If a seeker shoots you, you shoot back, simple enough?’

                She shrugged. ‘I should be able to handle it.’

                ‘Good.’ Starscream turned to Obsidian, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Who’s the one without a plan now?’ He raised his hands above his head, rotating his wrists like they were a pair of rotors. ‘“Look at me: I’m Obsidian, I don’t know what the ground feels like and can’t make my own plans without being dumb. Dur durr, Herpity doo! See, that’s what you sound like, you nerd!’

 

                Obsidian remained unimpressed by Starscream’s display. He waved a servo towards Thundercracker. ‘Perhaps we should attempt negotiations beforehand. Thundercracker, any ideas as to how we can expect to find a comms signal.’

                The blue Seeker leaned against Skywarp’s horizontal pod. ‘If the Nemesis is anywhere, it’ll be floating within the outskirts of the town complex. Our best bet would be to go there and scan for nearby networks.’

                Strika made a pair of quotation gestures with her digits. ‘In other words, if we want to “commune” with them, we’re going to have to infiltrate the city first.’

                ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Starscream interjected. ‘There’s no need for infiltration—it’s not like this planet wants us, but it’s not like there’s anything stopping us from just _walking in._ ’

                Obsidian clasped his hands together. ‘Then we go to the city, pick up a signal, and make contact with Slipstream.’ He nodded. ‘Good. I love it when there’s a valid plan of action.’

                ‘Of course.’ Starscream pressed his heel against his wooden throne and placed his hands on his hips smugly. ‘Prepare yourselves Decepticons, for we move forward now. Under my awesome leadership we will absolutely annihilate the Autobot—‘

                ‘AAAAGGGGHHHHH!!’

                Starscream swung his head around, nearly falling off his throne. ‘What the hell?!’

                Lying faced up in his canister, Skywarp shrieked, his optics fired a white beam of light out of either socket. A blood-red liquid erupted from his mouth and streaming out and down his chin, muddling his screams. Thundercracker tried to calm down his brethren only to be swatted aside by a flailing limb, crashing into the dirt. Purple energy wafted around the screaming seeker as he rattled in his cylinder, screeching repeatedly: “GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!”


	22. Contact

The shopping district was for the most-part located at ground level, but even that didn’t stop its miles of shopping stands, rest stops and commercial merchandising from impressing Blackarachnia. She stood watching through a clear-glass screen from within the Ark’s observation deck as Optimus piloted the ship neatly towards the town’s docking area. As the Ark descended, several small aliens surrounded them, securing its landing and awaiting Optimus from outside.

                Blackarachnia leaned against the glass, her optics scanning the many shops available to them. ‘Wow… where to start?’

                Optimus rose from his command chair, beckoning Blackarachnia over. ‘Alright, you know the drill, don’t kill anyone, be nice, and no—.’

                Ironhide kicked the door to the observation deck, covered in all sorts of weaponry from path-blasters to pistols. ‘Hey Prime! I got the guns!’

                Leaping from his command chair, Optimus stumbled down the main steps to Ironhide, grasping at the air wildly. ‘Ironhide! What are you doing?! Why do you have all those guns?!’

                Ironhide blinked. ‘I don’t understand the question.’

                Optimus pointed at the main view-screen and towards the wide range of uniquely shaped aliens walking about and minding their business throughout the center. ‘We’re in neutral territory! You can’t just waltz around fully armed as if we’re about to face down the crucible!’

                ‘But Prime! What if we encounter the Decepticons! What if we get tackled by Overlord or Straxus?!  How are we supposed to defend ourselves without any guns?’

                Optimus placed a hand on his friends shoulder. ‘The same way we always handle it.’ He leaned into Ironhide’s personal bubble, clenching the air between his servos until they shook. ‘With our _bare fists!’_

                Ironhide stared at his cannons and sighed. ‘Not even one grenade?’

                ‘Not one grenade.’

                ‘Blast.’

                Blackarachnia snickered as Ironhide stripped himself of his weaponry. ‘Hahah! Ironhide got in trouble with Prime!’

                Ironhide’s optics blazed. ‘HAHAH BLACKARACHNIA IS A DECEPTICON!’ He threw his external weaponry to the ground and sat frustrated on the floor. ‘I’m keeping my cannons…’

                ‘Fine. Just keep the safety on.’ Optimus said, sighing.

                Ironhide tilted his head slightly. ‘The what? Oh… yeah… sure.’ He didn’t know what that was.

The main doors opened and a large ramp lowered from the Ark’s chambers. Standing below was a small neon blue and green alien about a head of a size shorter than Blackarachnia. The three Autobots traversed down the ramp with Optimus taking the lead.

                ‘What is the purpose of your visit?’ the alien asked, pulling out a check-board.

                ‘Stocking up on supplies for the trip. We’ll be gone by dusk.’

                The alien nodded, its lizard-like eyes darting to a pair of waiting units of the same species and spoke in a native language. _‘Vii vera nictin, jii gonin niqua.’_

The two nodded and approached Ironhide, holding a pair of plates that suctioned themselves onto the barrels of his cannons.

                ‘Hey, hey, what’s the meaning of this?’

                ‘A countermeasure, sir.’ The alien answered. ‘I understand that as soldiers you have the rights and requisites to own your weaponry. However, you have entered an area of space where such use of them is deemed _illegal_ under the combined wisdom of the Vestial Imperium and the Nebulan alliance.’

                ‘We understand.’ Optimus said, having heard enough of the Imperium for a lifetime.

                The alien gave a faint nod and pointed a shriveled digit to an empty booth not far from where they were standing. ‘One of you will have to go through a very short set of customs, the rest can do as they please.’

                Optimus advanced down the Ark’s ramp and turned to the others. ‘I’ll talk with them, the two of you can go on ahead.’

The marketplace was crowded, to say the least, and to avoid the risk of getting lost, Blackarachnia and Ironhide remained outside the customs office, surveying the area.

                ‘There’s so… _much.’_ Blackarachnia said, waving a hand to illustrate how immense the number of shops were. ‘What are you planning on buying, wait, let me guess, a gun--?’

                ‘Guns.’

                ‘Yeah... figures.’

                Ironhide folded his arms and hunched himself over defensively, as if he were curling himself into a ball. ‘So what? We have to be vigilant. It’s us verses the Universe now, of course I want to be ready for it when it comes.’ He shook. ‘Damn Universe… tricky sneak, it is.’

                Blackarachnia scratched the side of her helm. ‘Yeah but, like, is that all? I mean, come on man, there has to be _something_ that you’re actually interested in, you’re not a _total_ tool, I don’t think…’

                ‘There is something…’

                ‘Finally!’ She paused. ‘Is it guns?’

                ‘It’s guns.’

                Optimus grabbed them both by their shoulders, huffing as he urged them forward. ‘Come on, let’s go…’

                ‘You alright?’ Ironhide asked, passing with them into the crowds of aliens.

                ‘Kind of. I had to give them the Ark’s serial number.’

                Blackarachnia blinked a pair of optics. ‘What is that? Some kind of breakfast number?’

                ‘It’s nothing, I was just worried about it since they have another Cybertronian working at the booth.’

                Ironhide squinted behind them and towards the customs ‘Want me to roughen them up? I’ll show them that cereal is no laughing matter if you’d like.’

                Optimus raised a hand to his comrade. ‘No! Please, we’re fine Ironhide, there’s nothing to worry about.’ The crowds started to dissipate as they moved deeper into the market, opening a pathway for Optimus to quicken his pace. He rose a dramatic servo. ‘But yet… we must stay vigilant Autobots. Danger lurks in every corner. We must respond with the utmost clarity and focus, and watch where we stride, for in case of any emergency, we must prepare ourselves to—.’

                Optimus’s speech was cut short as a loud squeak pitched from below. Lying on the ground by his feet was a small pink robot. Optimus gather that they were a female Cassetticon from the size and shape of their frame.

                ‘Hey! Big guy!’ the small robot stood up, coming up to his waist in height. ‘What’s the big idea?! Knocking someone down like that!’

                ‘Oh!’ Optimus bent over to see what he now realized was an Autobot. ‘I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—say, have we met before?’

                ‘Don’t change the subject stick-bag! And don’t patronize me! Kneel so you can face me eye to eye!’

Optimus did as he was told and knelt, only to receive a quick slap in the face from the Cassette.

                ‘Ow!’

                ‘Yeah? Guess how I feel? But that’s just life, and life hurts, sweetie. I spend every damn day minding my own business, while people like you just can’t bother to look or think for themselves! Next time, try to be more vigilant and watchwhere you’re going!’

                Optimus gulped. ‘Yes sir!’

                ‘That’s M’AAM!’

                ‘Yeah! What you said!’

The pink robot let out a huff and went the opposite way, disappearing into a crowd.

Optimus rose to his feet, massaging the spot where he was hit. He turned around to find Blackarachnia and Ironhide covering their mouths, trying to hold in their giddiness.

                He sighed. ‘Go ahead, have your fun.’

The two Autobots bent over laughing.

                ‘“Be vigilant” he says!’ quoted Ironhide.

                ‘“Watch where we stride”!’ Blackarachnia added.

                Optimus sighed. ‘Well, that was an embarrassment.’

\-----

                ‘Well, that was an embarrassment!’ Starscream declared, shoving Thundercracker aside.

                Skywarp had long since been silenced, though it required Strika crushing his head into a crumpled ball to do it. Thundercracker sat, leaning against the city’s outer wall, his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what happened! He must have regained a momentary lapse of memory from the time he went missing!’

                Obsidian hovered nearby, tapping at his elbow impatiently. ‘A what?’

                Thundercracker prepared to speak but was soon interrupted by Starscream. The commander cleared his throat as he prepared to speak. ‘Skywarp went missing for a few months, and returned with the ability to teleport, blah, blah, blah. The point is he regained his memory of those months and it made him scream like an Autobot. Thus nearly shattering the audio receptors of everyone in range and potentially giving away our position.’

                ‘Indeed.’ Obsidian said, hovering over the canister. ‘Is he dead?’

                Strika made a “so-so” gesture with her servo. ‘I did him in as gently as I could. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ She scratched the back of her head as she eyed the sealed container. ‘Though I’ve got to admit… it’s been a drag carrying him around all the time.’

                Obsidian eyed Starscream tiredly. ‘He has the potential to be a liability or worse, a danger to both us and our cause. I suggest we take our time in the future to consider leaving him in another party’s care.’

Thundercracker leaped to his feet, his fingers digging into the palms of his hands. ‘HE’S ONE OF OUR OWN!’

                Obsidian and Strika made way as Starscream approached his fellow seeker. ‘He is. But it was your choice to bring him along. I don’t know _why_ you’d rather drag him around than leave him back at command, but who am I to question obscure lifestyle choices?’

                Thundercracker pressed his index finger against the side of his head. ‘Soundwave dug into my brain and displayed it for the world to see. If you think I’m going to leave Skywarp in _his_ care then you obviously don’t care well enough for your frien—for your comrades.’

                Starscream grinned, and placed a hand on Thundercracker’s shoulder. ‘Hey Thundercracker, here’s a joke: “ _I care about Skywarp”_. Hilarious, right? See, the punchline is thatit’s bullshit. I couldn’t care _less_ about that idiot. Now let’s make a deal, convince me that he is of his use by the end of the day and I _won’t_ ship him back to Soundwave to be dissected, _deal?_ ’

                Thundercracker resisted the urge to deck Starscream and remained frozen in place. His fists shaking with rage.

                Starscream patted him on the head. ‘Good boy.’ He turned to face the others. ‘Well! Now that that… episode, is out of the way, let’s move on to the fun part.’ He activated his communicube and watched as it split apart and formed a large ball of light. The light pulsed three times before taking the shape of Slipstream.

                ‘Air Commander Slipstream speak—oh.’ A grin crept across her faceplate. ‘Well, look who it is.’

                ‘Air Commander _Starscream_ speaking. But I’m sure you remember that perfectly.’

                ‘It’s funny.’ She said. ‘We’ve been trying to reach you, but for whatever reason we couldn’t find a number, or an address.’

                ‘Hilarious…’ Starscream circled the transmission greedily. ‘I have been discussing with my strategists, - Obsidian and Strika, you may have heard of them - in regards to some suitable arrangements between our respective groups.’

                Slipstream seemed to ponder this for a moment before lowering her optics. ‘I have been doing the same.’ Her shoulder moved as she tapped in a set of co-ordinates. ‘There, I’ve sent you the location of the Nemesis. We await your arrival.’ The feed cut-off, leaving Starscream staring at an empty screen.

                He turned to face the others, still smiling. ‘They’re totally going to shoot us down.’

                ‘And?’ Strika shrugged. ‘What can we do?’

                Starscream waved a hand to them. ‘Thundercracker, scour the marketplace for supplies, in the meantime, Obsidian, Strika, survey the area for potential traps and/or external reinforcements.’

                ‘And where’s that leave you?’ Thundercracker said.

                ‘I’ll visit them myself, when the time is right, now transform and rise up.’ Obsidian and Thundercracker nodded immediately, transforming into their aerial configurations and boosting into the sky. Strika stared at him for a moment, before transforming into her tank form alongside Obsidian’s shadow.

                Alone with Skywarp, Starscream considered the situation and shook his head. ‘I’m sure I’ll be given the _warmest_ of welcomes.’

\-----

Slipstream stood on the Nemesis’s bridge, optics fixated at the area in which Starscream’s hologram once stood. Beneath its bridge were rows of Seekers of all sizes, conversing and sharing their experiences to date. Standing on either side of her were the two Seekers of highest rank (after her of course), Ramjet and Sunstorm. Ramjet was a typically bulky seeker of warrior build and plain, grey and black colours. As his tag-name suggested, he wore a cone-shaped crown above his forehead. Sunstorm was thinner in build, and wore a golden cape-like apparatus that reached to his ankles. He had similar religious pieces of cloth draping from his arms and legs, signifying his attachment to Primus.

                ‘We’re totally going to blow him out of the sky!’ Ramjet exclaimed, fueled on adrenaline.

                ‘Peace, friend.’ Sunstorm made a calming gesture to his cone-headed partner. ‘Starscream is a sinner of the worst, of course we’d never let that traitor back into the fold.’

                ‘Sunstorm.’ Slipstream said.

                The gold and red Seeker straightened his posture upon address. ‘Yes, Commander.’

                ‘We’re going to let Starscream back into the fold.’

                ‘Of course.’

                There was a moment of silence throughout the Nemesis before Sunstorm had time to react. ‘I beg your pardon?’

                She turned around to face him, a bored expression strewn across her face. ‘We’re letting him back into the fold. I—what, did you not hear me? Is that too difficult for you to understand?’

                ‘But—!’ Sunstorm tried to form words. ‘Surely you—It’s _Starscream!_ I thought the reason we left when we did was to avoid Starscream’s leadership! Why are you returning to him; what are you afraid of?’

                Slipstream calmly punched a few keys into the Nemesis’s main console, and a hologram of a large, red and blue figure materialized. She pointed a strong digit at the Autobot. ‘I am afraid of _that_.’

                ‘Optimus Prime…’ Ramjet muttered.

                ‘This Autobot is a Prime that learned to mask his signature indefinitely. That’s enough to make any Decepticon unhinged. But more importantly, he _killed_ Megatron in a one on one fight. I don’t care if it was strength or wit that allowed him to accomplish this, but it has been enough for me to rethink my strategy numerous times over since we left Kaon.’

                ‘But, pray-tell, why?’ Sunstorm begged. ‘Why now? What could have possibly pained you to change your mind about Starscream?’

                ‘When Prime lobotomized Snaptrap.’ She made stabbing gestures with her servos, signifying a battle. ‘Snaptrap was an old sparring partner of mine, he was as slow as a turtle, but his vigor, well, that was something else altogether. Prime didn’t just defeat Snaptrap: he _humiliated_ him. Anyone capable of doing that is a threat to pretty much everyone.’

                ‘Whatever, he probably didn’t do it alone.’ Ramjet shrugged. ‘I reckon he’s got tens of Autobots under his command to help him out, Prime’s usually do.’

                ‘And that just makes this situation a whole lot more complicated.’ Slipstream spat. ‘If he has an army with him then how would you suspect our own armada would fair? We’d be decimated in an all-out strike.’

                ‘But why Starscream?!’ Sunstorm persisted. ‘We could use the extra power, I admit, but Starscream is a—how to describe him…? He’s a tipping barrel of gasoline, ready to spill over a blaze at any given moment.’

                Slipstream’s optics seemed to dart as she thought up her response. ‘As unneeded a metaphor as that was, you’re right. But don’t forget, Starscream is the only one to have encountered the Prime and live. Hell, he managed to outlive _Megatron._ With his knowledge of the enemy and the strategic genius of Strika and Obsidian at our disposal, we may just have a chance against him. Regardless of what power he truly holds.’

                Ramjet tapped his fingers together nervously. ‘But what if he—?’

                ‘Takes over? Oh, don’t worry, Ramjet. I have a backup plan for that.’

                Slipstream prepared to leave but found herself ceasing as Sunstorm spoke. ‘Is that the only reason you want Starscream to return?’

                Stopping for only a moment, Slipstream considered the question and grinned, revealing her teeth. ‘Okay Sunstorm, fine, you win, I’ll spill.’ She wrung her hands together, her optics narrowing into a cat-like glare. ‘If you haven’t guessed already, I’ve got some naughty secrets that I’ve been trying to keep away from prying eyes. Secrets that I do _not_ want to let loose just yet. Both Starscream _and_ Optimus have been coming way too close to discovering some majoranswers. See, I’ve got _big_ plans coming and I don’t need either of those idiots getting in my way.’ She made dismissive gesture and exited the bridge to pursue her own projects. ‘Best draw them in so I can keep an eye on them instead, wouldn’t you agree?’

 


	23. I Am

                Town lights flicker-faded, and medicinal smoke wafted against his waist as Thundercracker wandered through the market’s narrow streets; providing his utmost to avoid any shred of physical contact with the organic inhabitants. He found himself especially wary for the ones consisting of organic tissues, sheared cloth, and globules of he-didn’t-know-what. Basically, he avoided anything that wasn’t metal. He wasn’t a fan of the fleshy beings, and from the looks of their narrow-faced stares, they weren’t too thrilled about him either. Thundercracker couldn’t blame them, he was a Cybertronian after all. _T’was the life_ , he mused. He had already completed his assignment of gathering and stockpiling resources for Starscream, even if he wouldn’t call the plan a total success. The weaponry he purchased had been nothing more than smaller scaled caricatures of Cybertronian hand-guns, and they would never compare to the devastating fire power of a null-ray or incomprehensible range of a techvolt-emitter. He had since tucked the primitive weaponry away into a small alcove outside the city’s rim alongside Starscream’s fools-throne, Obsidian’s data-pads, Strika’s weapons-stash, and of course, Skywarp. (Starscream himself was no longer there when he arrived.)

                Deciding to leave the “base” as it was, Thundercracker proceeded back into city in hopes of finding Obsidian and Strika. After serving under Starscream since his days at the old research laboratory, Thundercracker had come to recognize the variety of expectations his commander held against him. Starscream always seemed to have preferred it whenever he or Skywarp took the initiative in his absence. He believed the reasoning behind it was so that more work would be done without requiring Starscream to lift a finger. If it were not for this, Thundercracker could have, and _would_ have been lounging around the alcove, pointlessly, and Primus knew how Starscream hated things that were pointless. _What would Starscream expect of me?_ He pondered. His answer came to him almost naturally. _Assist Obsidian and Strika._ Though they were nowhere in his peripheral sight, Thundercracker knew precisely how to locate them. The light blue seeker lowered his goggles over his optics and activated his heat-scan.   
                While he couldn’t find Obsidian or Strika through the glass’s detection frequency, he managed to sight the heat signatures of a pair of Seekers, standing a mere parsec from his location. Slipstream’s men. Thundercracker contemplated dealing with the issue by force, but upon further evaluation, considered his faint familiarity with the pair - having served alongside them for years past on the Nemesis – and decided to deal with the encounter in a smoother approach. That is, as smooth as Thundercracker could possibly accomplish. He arched around a corner and approached the pair in a casual stride. They were nearly identical in size and shape, though while one was a dark green and bronze, the other was cone-headed with a dark beige scheme, dark red highlights and a bright red faceplate.

                Thundercracker caught their attention with a passive gesture. ‘What up, my Seekers?’

                The pair stared at their blue counterpart through thickly layered optics, and frowned. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ The face-plated one demanded.

                Thundercracker clear his throat in embarrassment and forced a grin. ‘Um, nothing, sorry.’ He had definitely spent too much time with Skywarp. The blue Seeker extended a digit towards the one in beige and squinted his optics in an effort to place a name. ‘Contrail, right?’ He turned to the other. ‘And you are—?’

                ‘Tox-Box.’ The dark green one said, optics drooping as he mumbled his designation. ‘Rainmaker.’

                Thundercracker cringed. ‘Yikes. That’s just—that’s just unfortunate.’

Tox-Box looked as if he were about to topple over from his depressed posture. ‘Acid Storm made me change designations to match up with the whole “acid” motif. I was unjustifiably rushed.’ Tox-Box shrugged.

                Thundercracker shook his head, arching his shoulders as to signal he was about to talk about other matters. ‘That aside… I haven’t seen either of you in a long while, mind me asking what the old gang’s been up since I’ve been gone?’

                The seekers exchanged looks. ‘We’ve been serving under Slipstream.’ Contrail said.

                ‘We know what _you_ have been up to.’

                Thundercracker straightened his posture, blinking in uncertainty. He decided to play along. ‘Okay. What have I been up to?’

Contrail and Tox-Box advanced on Thundercracker, forcing him back.

                ‘You’ve been working with Starscream.’ Contrail rightfully accused.

                ‘The very Starscream that tried to undermine leadership in front of the entire Decepticon army.’ Tox-Box clarified.

                Thundercracker raised his servos in defence, hoping there wasn’t a wall behind him as he retreated blindly. ‘Okay! If this is what you’re so worked up about, then let me offer you—I don’t know, a resolution—an end _note_. I hate Starscream just as much as you do, shocking, right? I only tagged along with him because I couldn’t find any work. I also lived in a shoddy hab-suite, and I had nobody else who would take me. Happy? Now would you _please_ just—?!’

Contrail activated a null-ray from his wrist compartment as Tox-Box pushed Thundercracker into a darkened alleyway. They were completely hidden now.

                ‘If you think that’s the only reason you’re going to die tonight, then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.’ Contrail said.

                ‘What?!’

                ‘We all know where you were the day he died.’ The beige Seeker went on. ‘We saw what you saw when Megatron was murdered in cold blood. You were barely twenty-feet from where it happened; flinching and crying behind a rock like a coward. There was so much you could have saved us from, Thundercracker! You could have killed Prime with a quick shot to the head, or distracted him long enough for Megatron to get the upper hand or—or anything. Instead you waited, watched, and let Megatron die right in front of you.’

Thundercracker tried to retort. He tried to tell them how idiotic they were being. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t even accomplish that.

When Contrail didn’t get a response, he leveled his null ray and fired a blast into Thundercracker’s shoulder, spreading chunks of metal exploding from his upper arm. The force pushed him down into a mound of organic litter, contained in lazily sealed plastic-tight bags. After the first kick to his ribs from Tox-Box, Thundercracker had finally understood that this was how he was going to die.

                He extended a futile servo. ‘Wait! You wouldn’t! Not one of your own!’

Contrail reloaded his rifle as Tox-Box lifted Thundercracker up by the collar, delivering another blow across his face and leaving nasty gash between his optics. He slammed Thundercracker’s bleeding head back into the trash, rupturing the plastic bags and producing a vile liquid that leaked out from the tear and trickled down his face.

                ‘You were never one of us…’ Contrail’s Null-Ray came alight. ‘I watched you, whenever we were paired together. You never fought, and when you did, you were always too squeamish to let your vigor take control. I don’t even _want_ to know how low your kill-count is…’

Thundercracker tried to speak, but received another fist to his face for his troubles.

                ‘You’re a traitor, Thundercracker. You hold back from killing the Autobots, you side with Starscream, and you toiled away as Megatron died right before your eyes. I don’t know about Tox-sucker here…’

                ‘Hey!’

                ‘…But I owed everything to Megatron. Seeker’s honour and what-not. Sure, Optimus pulled the trigger, but you’re just as guilty for letting it happen.’ Contrail pressed the tip of his rifle against Thundercracker’s forehead.

Thundercracker thought his last thoughts, but he didn’t know what he wanted his last breath of conscious to be. He strained his mind to think. There was Skywarp, but for once, Thundercracker couldn’t give a damn about him after all the crap he was put through during the past few weeks of carrying him around in stasis. It was true, Thundercracker was a faceless entity in the Decepticon hierarchy, and those who did know him, hated him for what he was. There was nothing for Thundercracker to leave behind in this world, and that terrified him. He wondered whether Starscream would notice he was gone.

                ‘Goodnight, Thundercracker.’

Optics squeezing shut, Thundercracker heard a loud crunch, followed by a hanging silence. Was he dead? No. Thundercracker had witnessed enough death to know that there was no such thing as a painless demise. Thundercracker had waited too long and anticipated this moment too highly for some lame ‘pop’. He opened his optics and tilted his head to his killer. Contrail’s face was gone. Not distorted, or caved out, just gone; a clean, carved hole replacing what was left. Behind him was a massive figure – a smoking path-blaster clenched between their meaty fingers. As Thundercracker’s optics adjusted, so did the figure begin to take shape.

Laughing, Strika raised a large, monolith-sized fist above her head, and swung it down like a hammer; crunching Contrail’s skull into his torso and severing his spark-casing. The sudden pressure caused the Seeker’s chest to violently explode into a wave of razor-sharp fragments that imbedded themselves into the alley’s walls, and worse, Tox-Box’s flesh.

                ‘It’s super effective!’ Strika cheered as Tox-Box looked on in horror.

                ‘CONTRAIL! OH MY GOD!’ Ignoring the pain, the rain-maker activated his acid-spray-rifle and aimed it at Strika only for a thin, spine-like appendage to burst out from his chest.

                ‘You gain pleasure from tormenting the weak, do you?’ Obsidian’s “tail” pressed in deeper as he held Tox-Box down by the wrists. ‘Then why didn’t you just torment yourself?’ His strength overwhelmed Tox-Box’s as he forced the Seeker to raise his acid-rifle and jam the barrel against his helm.

                ‘NO!’

                ‘It’s simple math. You kill the weak. You are weak. Therefore, you should shoot yourself in the head.’

                ‘PLEASE!’

                ‘You still don’t understand? Hum, well, allow me to educate you on the subject.’ Obsidian pushed a tendril against Tox-Box’s trigger-finger and fired the gun, spraying a blast of toxic liquid that engulfed the Seeker’s head. The hovering Decepticon released himself from the Rainmaker and surveyed his handy-work from a safe distance; watching as his victim fell to his knees, screaming. Tox-Box’s helm disintegrated and his optics popped out of his face as green and purple puss spouted from his pores like tiny geysers. Within a matter of seconds, Tox-Box’s head had become nothing more than a rusted, metallic skull. Sounds remained creeping from the head even after his jaw had literally dropped and shattered between his knees. The Rainmaker’s life finally ended as what was left of its disintegrating skull cracked open upon impacting against the cold, miserable ground.

Thundercracker couldn’t tell how long he had been staring, only snapping back into conscious the moment Obsidian had stopped offering him a hand. Rising on his own, Thundercracker tried to vocalize a word of thanks, but once again failed to formulate any sort of response.

                Obsidian turned to his consort, his servos placed against his hips. ‘Well Strika, I suppose you could say these Seekers were…’

                ‘…Seeking their graves!’ Strika finished. The massive femme high-fived Obsidian, still laughing as a result of her adrenaline-high. She sobered for only a moment to reach into Tox-Box’s non-existent skull and crush his brain module before returning to her guffaw.

                ‘Ahh…’ Obsidian turned back to face Thundercracker. ‘Care for a drink?’

                Finally, something Thundercracker understood.

\-----

                ‘It’ll be a matter of time before Slipstream realizes two of her men are missing. But I believe a dumpster is discreet enough. Or not. Who knows, really?’

The local pub was generally well populated, with a lengthy bar and its own area for gambling and recreational sport. An ape-like alien bolted from their seat in happiness as he won a game of full-stasis. Behind them, Strika, Obsidian, and Thundercracker sat, drinking against the warm glow of the pub’s liquid cannisters.

                Thundercracker’s face was buried into his arms, a servo wrapped around a glass of synthesized Energon. ‘I’m sorry, that was… that was just embarrassing.’

                Strika snatched Thundercracker’s glass from his fingers and downed its contents before supplying him with another. ‘Here, have another one, on me.’

                Thundercracker droned on, ignoring the fact that Strika was stealing his Energon right in front of him. ‘I’m usually a good fighter, but what happened back there, I guess— I suppose two Seekers are just better than one…’

                Obsidian’s fingers curled and uncurled around the glass. ‘You’re welcome. Now, shut up, drink up, and forget about it.’

Thundercracker waved an irritable servo and took a sip from his glass. He thought for a moment, and made the decision to ask. ‘Say… out of curiosity, do either of you plan on killing Starscream any time soon?’

                Obsidian raised a curious brow while Strika merely laughed. She pressed her fist against the top of Thundercracker’s head and gave him a noogie. ‘You’re a funny little man!’

                Thundercracker snarled in and pushed the larger Decepticon’s fist aside. He hated being treated like a child, especially when he could have sworn he was older than both Strika and Obsidian combined. Well, Strika more-so than Obsidian. ‘Look, I went with Starscream as a last resort. Frankly, I couldn’t care less if you wanted to kill him, hell, I’d help. But you guys are some of our highest ranking generals, you’re trying to tell me you aligned yourself with Starscream _willingly?’_

                ‘It’s not like that…’ Obsidian held his glass with both servos. ‘Believe me when I say we haven’t been put up to anything. Soundwave did talk to us about it… but only after we made the decision to join him.’

                ‘But why?’

                Strika waved a pair of servos in front of her face. ‘Don’t look at me. He never tells me anything.’ She turned to Obsidian. ‘He has a point, though. Why are we working for that square?’

                Obsidian was nonplussed. ‘Because that “square” is our best chance at finding the Prime. Starscream is an idiot, we can all agree on that.’ He turned his attention away from his glass, and fixated on Thundercracker. ‘But he’s a powerful one. And those, Thundercracker, are the scariest idiots of all. Starscream was in charge of a squadron designed to seek out, and destroy Autobots. Biases aside, I couldn’t think of a better suited Decepticon for the job.’ He squinted his optics, an air of reluctance filling his vocabulary. ‘He’s also the only Decepticon to have fought the Prime and lived. In short, he’s the only one around who knows what he’s up against. Starscream has many positive aspects that raise his chances in avenging Megatron, he just hasn’t proven them yet.’

                Thundercracker pondered this for a second, and shrugged. ‘Works for me.’

                Strika downed the rest of Obsidian’s drink in a single gulp. ‘There’s also the fact that nobody wanted _us_ either, but I guess at the end of the day we just creep people out.’

                Obsidian nodded in reluctant agreement. ‘True…’ Realizing that his glass had been emptied, the strategist checked a chronometer on his wrist and rose from his seat, beckoning Strika to do the same. ‘It looks like we’ve had enough… come on, we should get back to work.’

                Strika slumped out of her chair, groaning. ‘Fine, fine… even if I was just getting started.’ She turned to face the blue seeker once more. ‘You coming, Thundercracker?’

                ‘You go on ahead. I’m gonna stay and finish my glass.’

                ‘Suit yourself.’

Finding himself sitting at the bar alone, Thundercracker ordered another bottle of synthesized Energon and began to slouch. He ordered three more glasses and drank away his worries, he was not planning on spending the day sober when there were other Seekers out to kill him.

\-----

Despite declaring they would stick together, Team Prime had found themselves speaking at three different vendors, all selling their own merchandise alongside a tightly enclosed pathway. Waiting to be served wasn’t much of an issue, as the organic aliens seemed to disperse as the Cybertronians paved the way, as if there were an invisible barrier surrounding them wherever they went. Having retrieved three sets of energy cannisters tucked beneath her arms, Blackarachnia left the server unoccupied and strolled over to Optimus, curious as to what the Prime had purchased for himself.

                ‘I got the fuel-cells you asked for, oh-fearless-leader.’ Blackarachnia teased. She stood on her toes to catch a glimpse of the flat, rectangular box cradled in his hand. ‘What’cha got there?’

                Optimus moved the black and blue box into the light. ‘Behold, Blackarachnia. Back on Earth, we called these… “Blu-Rays”.’

                She took a second to wrap her head around a possible meaning behind the name. ‘Yeah? What’s it do?’

                ‘It’s a movie.’ Prime said, contently massaging his thumbs against the rims of the disc’s container. ‘You know, to watch.’

                ‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia tilted her head. ‘Should’ve said that in the first place. Is it a good one?’

                Optimus looked as though he were only paying partial attention. ‘Surely… I mean, it’s Batman.’ Optimus craned his head to face Ironhide from across the passage. ‘Ironhide! You know about Batman, right?’

                Ironhide perked his head, and bumbled over, carrying a glass jar under his arm. ‘Of course I do, he’s the reason I’m black. Why do you ask?’

Optimus revealed the box to him and dragged a finger beneath the title.

                Ironhide frowned, snatching the box away, scanning it and flipping it around so that the title faced Optimus. ‘I hate to say it, Prime, I really do, but it looks to me that you’ve been ripped off. It appears to be one of those cheap knock-off titles, y’know: the “Incredible Bulk”… “Atlantic Rim”?’

                Optimus snatched the Blu-Ray from Ironhide and glared at its title. Indeed, it was in special font, but the title clearly read: _From the producers who_ saw _the Dark Knight… Bantam, Brake and the Bolt._

Prime stared for a moment, and let out a disappointed sigh.

                Ironhide cracked his knuckles, scanning the area diligently. ‘Shall I pulverize the one who sold you this piece of fecal matter?’

                ‘What—Ironhide, no. Quit making such a big deal out of such a little thing.’

                Blackarachnia massaged her chin, recalling Prime’s earlier statement. ‘Earth huh, speaking of pulverized, didn’t that planet get wiped out, too? This crappy movie could be one of the last artifacts of that civilization… it could be the last Earthen movie in existence…’

                ‘Yeah…’ Optimus said before carelessly throwing the movie to over his shoulder, forgetting of its existence immediately. He turned his attention to the glass jar under Ironhide’s arm. ‘Say, Ironhide, what’s with the—.’

                ‘The jar.’ Blackarachnia finished, quickly.

                ‘Oh, this?’ Ironhide raised the jar to optic-level, displaying the contents for both to see. Crawling around inside was a small, arachnid-like alien that resembled a tarantula down to the small hairs growing on its back. Its eight eyes flicked from face to face, curious and confused. ‘I won it from a man living in a tent with nothing but spiders. He was practically _begging_ people to take them away from him.’

                ‘Someone gave you that?’ Optimus asked.

                ‘Is it secure in there?’ Blackarachnia added, passively.

                ‘Yeah, I asked him where he ended up with such a surplus of them, and he told me it was none of my damned business; that I should stop asking questions if I knew what’s good for me. I liked him.’ He blinked, failing to read Optimus’s opinion on the subject. ‘I can get rid of it if you want – force him to take it back, even. I can’t imagine he’d be okay with it, but hell, who’s going to argue with a pair of big-ass cannons?’

                ‘You probably should.’ Blackarachnia said.

                ‘There’s no reason why we can’t keep it.’ Optimus disagreed. ‘All it means is that we’ll have to learn how to raise a spider now.’

                Ironhide nodded, and turned to Blackarachnia, extending the jar in her direction. ‘See, kid? It kind of looks like you.’

                Blackarachnia took a quick step back from the jar. ‘Yeah... So that jar is sealed tight? It can’t get out?’

                Optimus and Ironhide exchanged glances before prompting Blackarachnia. Optimus spoke in a soothing tone. ‘Blackarachnia… you don’t actually feel sympathy for it… do you?’

                Blackarachnia scoffed. ‘Come on! What, because I change into a nightmare machine modeled after an arachnid, I automatically sympathize with every other, ugly, crawly, bug-eyed, little spider we come across? What do you take me for? An Autobot?’

                Optimus and Ironhide shared another set of looks before slowly turning their heads to face Blackarachnia. Optimus retained his potent tone. ‘Blackarachnia, you aren’t…’

                Ironhide shook his head. ‘Couldn’t be…’

                ‘What?’

                ‘You aren’t afraid of spiders, are you?’

                All Blackarachnia could do was stare, silently and deadpanned. Finally, she put on a crooked grin and laughed it off. ‘Hah! Whaaaat? Why—heh, what makes you… naaaaaaah, man, I’m not afraid of anything. Especially not disgusting little creepy-crawlies like— like that thing. Now that’s settled, let’s just put the jar away and get back to some—.’ She stopped, realizing it was pointless. ‘I’m not…!’

                Ironhide took a step closer to Blackarachnia, optics wide in disbelief. ‘You’re afraid of spiders. _YOU,_ are afraid of spiders.’

                The brows over her optics creased as she tried to reason up an excuse. Angrily, she flexed a digit at the jarred arachnid. ‘So what? That thing is an irregularity, a _monster._ Everyone’s afraid of monsters. Monsters like The DJD, Sixshot, Harbinger, Galvatron, Maximo, Overlord, Shockwave, Scarab … real or not, they terrify _everyone._ That includes you, losers _,_ so don’t go pretending that they don’t!’

                Ironhide folded his arms. ‘They don’t.’

                Optimus placed a large hand on Blackarachnia’s shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Blackarachnia, everyone fears, even monsters. I promise that no one will laugh.’ Optimus said this. Looked away from them, and discreetly snickered over his shoulder.

                ‘Wh—you just laughed! Who does that? Who says they won’t laugh and then laughs?! That’s awful! You people are awful!’

                ‘I’ve got to wonder what that makes you.’ Ironhide mumbled to himself.

                ‘I’m sorry Blackarachnia.’ Optimus said, massaging the back of his head. ‘But you have to admit. It’s comedic irony.’

Blackarachnia was not satisfied.

                Optimus shook his head and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Come on, I heard there was a bar that served mechanicals just down the road. That should calm us all down.’

                Ironhide nodded in agreement. ‘I could certainly go for a drink.’

                Blackarachnia sighed, and they started walking. ‘Fine, but only if you’re paying.’

\-----

                Ramjet waded through the crowds of seekers before making his way to the main corridor. There he could at least catch a breath. Days living on the Nemesis had begun to feel very same-y to the cone-head. Slipstream would order the mandatory hunts, Hotlink would repair his fractured skull – much to the mechanic’s chagrin – and once again, Ramjet would have nothing to do. He was bored. Despite holding a higher rank amongst the seekers, and a former title as one of the Decepticons deadliest warriors among likes of Blitzwing and Macabre— there were few on the Nemesis that actually cared to be around him. He liked to think it was because they were all afraid of him, that his bulky frame and barrel-chest was enough to make them tremble. But really, even someone as stupid as him could tell it was because they didn’t like him. He missed having people to talk to. He missed Thrust and Dirge. It was the strangest thing, what happened. One day, there they were, the next they were gone. Starscream had little to say of it, concluding that they were deserters and leaving it at that. But they couldn’t have left him too, could they? Or did they just forget to mention to mention it to him? It didn’t matter. Questioning things made Ramjet’s head hurt. Or maybe that was just a result of all the mid-air collisions.

                He heard a faint voice pester him from an adjacent corridor. ‘Ramjet. Ramjet, over here!’ It was Sunstorm, his cloak bellowing below his ankles.

                Ramjet scanned the hallway for watchers before acknowledging Sunstorm’s presence. He wasn’t sure how to react. ‘Oh, it’s Sunstorm. What do you want?’

                The golden Seeker beckoned him over. ‘Oh, nothing more than a chat, I assure you, yes...’

                Ramjet stepped forward, troubled. ‘Yeah, look, I’m not so sure if I should be speaking to you.’

                Sunstorm’s face crinkled into a frown. ‘What? Why-ever not?’

                ‘Well, I was just thinking to myself how people don’t really like me, but people are _always_ avoiding _you_. If I start hanging out with you, people will probably get the wrong idea. I don’t want to catch your loser germs, Sunstorm.’

                Sunstorm looked confusion, but promptly rolled his eyes before caressing the bridge of his nose. ‘Ramjet, do you know _why_ the others avoid me the way they do?’

                ‘I dunno, I thought it was just ‘cause you’re weird.’

                Sunstorm shook his head and raised an arm from his brisling cloak. He then proceeded to press the palm of his hand against the nearest wall. It took a moment, and it took a little longer for Ramjet to understand what was happening, but as Sunstorm pressed against the wall, it’s purple and black surface began to melt. After calculating the right amount of time, the seeker released his hand, revealing an expanding, peeling, bullet-hole shaped puncture in the wall the size of a bowling ball (in scale with the Cybertronians of course). Its rim peeled and curled outward, inclining from solid purple to a bright, liquid orange. The circumference sizzled and cried as droplets trickled down the untouched wall in thin beads that trailed black, and then empty space.

His demonstration finished, Sunstorm retreated his hand back into his cloak. ‘Firstly, don’t tell anyone I did this. Secondly—.’

                ‘How’d you do that?!’ Ramjet cried, acting as if he had just witnessed an act of witchcraft. ‘How in the great _balls_ _of Primus_ did you do that?! Did you call upon the power of the Fallen? Did you mix bird shit with sulfur? Did you use magic-matrix powers? Did you…’ Ramjet stopped, and massaged his hurting head.

                Sunstorm sighed softly. ‘No… no. Ramjet, I have had this power for—well, I’ve had it since birth, I’m actually quite surprised you did not know this about me. But that’s—walk with me—that’s part of what I wish to speak to you about.’

                Ramjet followed his fellow seeker down the corridor. ‘Why me?’

                ‘We’re the two highest ranking officers aboard the Nemesis under Slipstream are we not?’ Sunstorm grinned. ‘Tell me, Ramjet, what did you think of Starscream?’

                Ramjet’s face went sour immediately. ‘Starscream? I’d rather see him executed after everything. The guy boasts his bridges, and the minute Megatron is gone, he talks a bunch of nonsense and begs to be in charge! I’ve never liked Starscream. Not ever.’

                Sunstorm nodded, as he presumed. ‘Of course, and Slipstream? What about her?’

                Ramjet found himself a little less sure. ‘She’s… well, she’s better than Starscream, isn’t she?’

                ‘Perhaps… perhaps. But has she fulfilled her duties adequately? Has she moved us any closer to locating the Prime?’

                Ramjet scratched the back of his helm. ‘Well, no. Not exactly.’

                ‘Has she moved us any closer to finding _any_ Autobot?’

                Ramjet thought it over. He hadn’t killed a single Autobot in the months following Megatron’s death. Slipstream always saw the hunt for Optimus as a secondary objective, and her first… well, nobody really knew. He recalled the same, repeating outcome of each “hunt” Slipstream would have to be reminded to order. They’d arrive at a possible location, a high ranking Seeker like Slipstream or Nacelle would do a scan, and then Ramjet would be ordered to crash into the site and take out whatever’s inside. However, this proved fruitless for Ramjet’s bloodlust, as even if Autobots were nearby, Ramjet wouldn’t be conscious for the ensuing battle. For the first time since he started, Ramjet had come to recognize that his tendency, and above all willingness, to crash into his enemies was being used to turn him into a shock trooper. After all, what pushes an Autobot to the brink of panic more than a fighter-jet crashing through your window and exploding all over your couch? Ramjet had been questioned about it before, and the reason for his obsession with ramming was because for a good chunk of his life, he didn’t know how to land, and in doing so would crash into his enemies head-first instead of transforming to fire like his comrades. The secret eventually came out when he first crashed into Kaon’s loading bay during a return from a daily patrol. The only reason he’s survived for this long was because of the fact that after multiple crashes, his armour had just grown an affinity to it. How he passed flight school was a different story altogether, though psychologists like Froid just assumed that since he was an MTO, the whole landing thing must have been left out of his mental-curriculum by accident, or perhaps left out intentionally as a prank. Ramming and crashing was an effective way to root out the enemy, but it meant Ramjet never got to do what he loved, and fight. The only thing that made it less comforting was the fact that sometimes there wouldn’t be an Autobot there at all, and all that followed was Hotlink or Sygnet scooping his body back in the bin for repairs— for the next ramming.

                ‘No…’ he said, quietly. ‘I guess not.’

                Sunstorm’s grin widened. ‘Frustrating. Isn’t it?’

                ‘You’re tellin’ me...’

                Sunstorm faced forward. ‘But let me ask you this: Was it the same with Megatron?’

                Ramjet shook his head as if on instinct. ‘No! Not at all! Whenever Megatron came around, things were—things were great! I remember, I got to fight right alongside him and he once, let me tell you, he once let me take the life of an Autobot general and—and it was great! I felt like I was a part of something whenever he was around.’

                Sunstorm nodded once more. ‘Megatron was an honest individual. He was a true leader. Do you know why that is, Ramjet?’

                The cone-head merely shrugged. ‘He was just good at his job, wasn’t he?’

                The gold Seeker tilted his head. ‘Yes. You’re not wrong, but there’s something else. You see, I believe that Megatron was chosen—that his life was scripted from front to back.’

                Ramjet didn’t understand at all, regardless he tried to keep up. ‘By who?’

                Sunstorm’s grin broadened to Cheshire proportions, as he did, Ramjet could see red light between the cracks of his teeth. ‘God.’

                ‘Oh.’

                Sunstorm continued, it was obvious that he was having a great time expressing himself. ‘I was an avid reader in Megatron’s manifesto: _Towards Peace, Peace through Tyranny_ , _My Struggle,_ you get the gist. In _My Struggle_ , Megatron declared that he once had a dream where he spoke to his lordship, Primus—jagged crowned, and gun in mangled hand. They say he enlightened Megatron on the future of the war—how it begins, how it ends… it foretold events that we now know as the past: of Proteus’s death, of the rise of the Liege’s Imperium, the fall of Boltax, of the Quintessons re-establishment. But wouldn’t you know it? Everything that’s been said to have happened, happened!’ He leaned in towards the cone-head, smiling eerily. ‘But that doesn’t even scratch the freaking surface, there was still so much said, _so_ much said! Primus told of a great hunter, of the primal extinction, and the resurrection of Cybertron. He told of a messiah bathing in flames, of the rise of the Neogens leading to a population of Beast Warriors, and of a vanishing point dubbed as _Shokaract._ ’

Ramjet was taken aback, mouthing words of confusion to himself as Sunstorm went on.

                ‘Thus calls forth my next question, Ramjet, do you believe in God?’

                He blinked. ‘I, uh, I guess so, yeah. I tend to think Primus exists.’

                ‘You’re damned right he exists. The evidence is there, and yet there are still those who persist otherwise!’ Sunstorm spread his arms wide, caring not to touch anything with his condition. ‘Megatron was an avid believer in Primus—he believed, and therefore he advanced towards success. Watch, even in death he has reunified our army! Starscream and Slipstream… they’re bots of science. They believe what they think, and not what they feel. You cannot tell me there isn’t some precedent to the success and failures of our kings and queens when only those who have been chosen by Primus have succeeded.’

                ‘So… what? You think the reason why Slipstream is failing is because she hasn’t chosen Primus as her saviour?’

                ‘No, Ramjet, I believe that it is Primus who hasn’t chosen _her._ You see, Ramjet, my ability—the fact that my very touch can liquefy cybertanium metal and cook it to extreme heats—has burdened me since birth. I unintentionally murdered my own batch-initiator when I was first active, and the three doctors who tried to get a hold of me didn’t fare any better. It was Megatron who thought it paramount that I live—that I be used for good. Regardless, I hated myself and couldn’t see my condition – my unexplainable condition – as anything more than a curse. But, about thirty years ago, during the surge, I was placed in a squadron dubbed the “Firecons”. It was back when they were more than just three thugs, mind you. I was drafted alongside Fearswoop, Inferno – one of the Infernos anyway – Incinerator, P-Tech, Ember, and Flamefeather. The attack on mining-colony VIII was going great, the fact that it was a forest—a forest _already suffering from a forest fire,_ made our lives miles easier.We did our thing and caused some chaos, tried to get the Autobots out of hiding by killing the planet’s inhabitants. Turns out we had fallen into an ambush, Sentinel Prime and his guard dropped from the sky and tore us a new one in seconds. Guns surrounding us, a shrieking school of Arks tore through the sky and bombarded the very planet they were supposed to protect, just to wipe us out. Sniper-fire and grenades tore the ground beneath our feet and pinned us down to the soft, soft, earth. Bayonets and shotgunners and beast-formers shredded through our first line of defense— we were utterly decimated. The smoke from our own flames was used to blind us, and it was not for long that we were bleeding, stumbling wrecks for Sentinel’s guard to hunt down and execute us one by one.’

                ‘Did you die?’

                Sunstorm paused. ‘No. You idiot. I was hidden in a crater beneath what I thought was wreckage from our downed ship. I was cowering and crying, flip-flopping between self-destructing, and revealing myself for a last stand. I didn’t know how long I was buried, and I couldn’t tell when they stopped screaming, because their ghosts… their ghosts kept wailing to me long after I had already seen their corpses. Can you guess what happened to me, Ramjet? Can you guess what happened when I was lodged in that scar of the earth?’

                Ramjet shook his head.

                ‘I had the dream! The prophecy! The same one Megatron had so long ago! Primus was there and he spoke to me. He told me of the fall of Megatron, of the Messiah, of the Beast Wars and Shokaract, everything, he told me everything! I saw Megatron’s death, and the inevitable second coming! He told me that until then, the messiah must come forth… the one in flames must rise!’ He exhaled, calming himself down and fanning the flames that emitted from his helm. ‘…I was found a week later, buried under the corpses of Incinerator, P-Tech and Inferno. Ember and Fearswoop’s bodies weren’t found—presumed vaporized by the Arks’ cannons, and Flamefeather—dear Flamefeather – he has since suffered from post-traumatic stress after he was tortured for information. They didn’t find me either, not the same me. When I was pulled from the rubble, I had finally realized what my role was in this universe. Not what I want to be, but what I am.’

                ‘What is…?’

                ‘I AM!’ Sunstorm raised his head to the ceiling, his arms spread out wide. ‘I am, the holy second coming!’

                Suddenly terrified, Ramjet took a wide step back. ‘I’m not so sure if—.’

                ‘Don’t you see, Ramjet?’ Sunstorm locked eyes with the Seeker. ‘I am the only one to suffer from the condition, ever, I received the vision; I was the last survivor… I’m not bragging, or using this as an excuse for power, Ramjet, I’m a supernatural being!  It all comes full circle. The prophecy told of a messiah, bathing in flames…’ Sunstorm leaned back, and his body did just that, pulsing in a golden inferno that left the walls around him singed. ‘…Now just what in the hell would you call this?!’

                Ramjet took another, wider step backwards. ‘I dunno Sunstorm, you’re kind of a freak.’

                The golden Seeker relinquished his flames and stared at Ramjet, deadpanned. ‘Please, Ramjet. Help me, help me take over. I know you feel it too, you take great pride in battle; you’re a noble warrior with no one to war against. You heard Slipstream, she’s too focused with her own agenda to care about fighting the Autobots. That’s not going to change any time soon. I know, you are a _smart_ Decepticon, I can tell. Allow me to lead, and I will guide the Decepticons to victory. And you, you will be the master of thousands of Autobot deaths by the end of the day. Trust me, Ramjet.’

                The cone-head shook his head. ‘Look, Sunstorm, I’ll think about it, okay? I haven’t scrapped with an Autobot in forever, but… I don’t see anything better coming from you.’ He jabbed a digit to the hallway on his right. ‘Anyways, I’ve got to go. I have an appointment with Hotlink and I really think I ought to go see him.’

                Sunstorm’s expression wrinkled in blazing anger, but relaxed as his optics shut. ‘Very well… I’ await your decision.’

\-----

Ramjet only ever used his appointments with Hotlink as an excuse to leave a conversation, but for once he really was scheduled to see Hotlink for the results of a previous check-up. He probably wouldn’t have in the first place, but the fear of Sunstorm finding out he was lying to him got to his head. He didn’t bother knocking, and barged through the door to Hotlink’s office. The room was shaped like a semi-circle, with a stack of data-pads shoved in the shelf in the corner. The light-purple Seeker sat at his desk in the center of the room, reading through his notes with a glass of sparkling Energon in his grasp.

                He looked up momentarily to address his visitor. ‘Ah, Ramjet, sit down.’

                Ramjet chose to stand. ‘Yeah, whatever, look, do you have the results of my last check-up yet?’

Hotlink nodded and swept up a pile of papers. ‘Yes, the one from your third head injury this week, I believe.’ He shuffled the papers and placed them under his desk. When his hands came back into view, they were clutching a silver data-pad. ‘Yes, yes, it’s much of the same, your head injury caused some minor delirium, nothing new there, your armor has another layer, good, your exo-structure is still durable, you have less than twenty-four hours to live, your proto-layer remains flexible, your denta are straight and polished…’

                ‘Hotlink.’

                He raised his head from his desk. ‘What?’

                ‘Did you just say that I had less than twenty-four hours to live?’

                He thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I believe so.’ Recognizing the look of shock on Ramjet’s faceplate, Hotlink rolled his eyes and stood up from his desk. ‘Is this really a surprise? Is it _really_ a surprise that you’re dying?’

                ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?!’ Ramjet roared.

                ‘I HAVE!’ Hotlink’s voice had lowered to the hush tone of a doctor to that of a Decepticon raptor jet. ‘I told you each and every time, and did you listen? No! I told you that ramming yourself head-first into the enemy was stupid! I told you it interferes and jostles with your internal systems! I told you that your spark had been dislocated into your shoulder-blade—! That it had the potential to prove fatal!’

                ‘Fatal doesn’t mean I’m going to _die!’_

                Hotlink screamed in frustration. ‘YES! Yes it does! That’s _exactly_ what fatal means! You idiot! I’ve been telling you that _crashing your plane_ was bad for your health—hell, I shouldn’t even _need_ to tell you that, anyone _ever_ could tell you that—but you kept doing it anyway! You stupid—STUPID, idiot! You brought this entirely upon yourself, your internal systems are so messed up from all your crashes that they’re finally going to putter out, gasping for air until finally suffocating and ceasing. You’re going to _die_ Ramjet, end of story.’ Calming down, Hotlink descended into his seat and clasped his hands. ‘If you want any parting advice, I suggest you live your last few hours doing whatever. You want to keep ramming jets? Keep ramming jets. You want to kill something? Kill it. That’s all the advice you’re ever going to hear from a doctor again.’ He nodded. ‘That will be all, Ramjet.’

\-----

                Silence, Ramjet couldn’t hear a thing as the door slammed behind him for the last time. Silence, he watched as Sunstorm watched him from across the hallway. Silence, he wondered if it was always this quiet—if he always had this much to think about. Not because he had to, but because he wouldn’t be able to for long. Silence, Sunstorm took a step forward, his face was a blank. Ramjet clenched his fists until he felt the sting of his finger-tips digging into his palms. ‘Alright, I’m in, I’ll follow you.’

                Sunstorm grinned. ‘Good. Let’s get started.’

 

 


	24. Sunstorm's Rise

An hour passed, and Ramjet had already begun to worry. He didn’t know the precise speed his life was slipping away from him by, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste another minute of it waiting when he could be out venting his frustration on squishy organics instead. Sunstorm promised him that by the end of the day, his might would be regarded in the same likeness as the Liege Centuro or Leo Prime; that his name would be remembered, and feared. He didn’t care too much about that, nor what it meant for the future of Sunstorm or the Seekers, but as long as it meant he’d get to see battle for one last time, Ramjet was going to be happy.

                Sunstorm met with him in the corridor, skipping lividly. ‘Greetings, Ramjet!’

                He wasted no time in cutting to the chase. ‘So? How’d it go?’

                ‘Splendid! Absolutely Splendid!’ The gold Seeker exclaimed, waving his pyro-kinetic servos above his head and carving crimson patterns in the air. ‘I have convinced at least fourty of our numbers to assist us in our venture. Did you do as I asked? Did you learn of the overall population of the—?’

                He nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, I asked around and it sounds like there are just less than a hundred Seekers on-board.’

                ‘Excellent, if this is the case, then the rest will surely follow.’

                ‘Er, yeah.’ He waited for more. When there wasn’t, Ramjet took his turn. ‘So, when does the action start?’

                Sunstorm made a gentle, forward gesture with his hand. ‘Patience, Ramjet—all will be as it should, and you will feel the heat of battle once again. Besides, we have all the time in the world, yeah?’

                Ramjet shrugged, then nodded, ‘Yeah.’ He froze, ‘Wait— not “yeah”, no! I _don’t_ have all the time in the world. I’m going to _die_ in a day—seven days at the most! That’s like—almost a week!’

                Sunstorm chuckled. ‘Fair enough, either way, you will get your fight. For now all I ask is that trust me and allow everything to go as planned.’

                A pair of slender servos slapped either seeker on the shoulder, gripping down and pulling their large body-frames back towards them. ‘What plan?’ Slipstream’s lips moved inches from their audio receptors.

                Ramjet’s spark suffocated and shrunk. His lips parted to speak, but he was left with a blank as to how he was going to explain himself in front of the very Commander he was conspiring to usurp. ‘I—I—.’

                ‘Plans for the troop inspection.’ Sunstorm blurted. Calmer than Ramjet, but not nearly as calm as he had been moments before. ‘Ramjet here has volunteered to help.’

                The Aerospace Commander nodded satisfactorily. ‘Good… good.’ Slipstream released the two and folded her servos behind her back. ‘Keep up the good work while I’m gone.’

                Sunstorm had lost his thread. ‘While you’re...?’

                ‘Contrail hasn’t responded to his transponder signal, I’m going to go look for him. In the meantime, Sunstorm, you are in command.’ The Seeker Commander advanced past them and into the access lift.

                ‘Yes, Slipstream…’

                The lift-doors closed and a cat-like grin scrawled across Sunstorm’s face. ‘I _am_ in command…’

                Ramjet waited, and as he did, Sunstorm made his announcement through his wrist-communicator, giving the orders for all active Decepticons to meet on the bridge. Meanwhile, Ramjet surveyed the front-monitor, watching as Slipstream departed the Nemesis and jetted out of sight. Sunstorm nodded, and the two made their way to the main bridge. Doors parted revealing rows of nearly identical troops, neatly lined in symmetrical columns and staring forward as their superiors passed to the bridge’s center. Sunstorm and Ramjet stood side-by-side, surveying the number of troops at their disposal. It was Sunstorm who stepped forward first.

                ‘My fellow Decepticons, some of you I have already consulted in private, others I speak to you now as one walker of the mortal plane to the other. Regardless, there is one thing we all share in common. And that is a loyalty to our late commander: Megatron. Seekers honour, we call it. But I call it something else. I call it, intelligence.’

The sounds of faint murmurs could be heard among the troops, and in seconds, their uniformity began to disperse.

                ‘Starscream, Shockwave, Skyquake, Overlord, Jhiaxus, Scorponok, Straxus— what do these names have in common? I ask you. Simply put, they are not Megatron. They all contested, or abandoned his divinity in his moments of glory, all in order to pursue their own greed-filled ventured. And have they been seen since? With few exceptions, no. While Shockwave and Scorponok have ‘officially’ been considered MIA by the cream of Decepticon command, it takes little intelligence to comprehend their clear evisceration in the battle for the Sol System. Jhiaxus was last seen swallowed in a dark portal, and Skyquake is all but lost to us. As for Overlord and Straxus, well, they’ve been wallowing in filth for who knows how long. Truly, all that remains is Starscream, and he is far from what you’d call a success on his side of the soil. Slipstream is no different, she is too focused in her own machinations to fully comprehend the relevance of Megatron’s will. She wants to hand leadership over to Starscream, to the insurgent! To stray from Megatron’s path of victory in order to follow what has led so many to their deaths. Now I ask you, my Decepticons, would you dare follow Slipstream’s schemes and see to your ends, or are you like me, and want to see a more proactive approach. To fight the Autobots, end this war, and bring glory to our race once again.’

                The crowd ascended into a cheer, it wasn’t a loud applause, but it was in a vein that nearly convinced Ramjet of their victory. From the look on Sunstorm’s face however, he had not found the level of support he was looking for. He was scouring the aisles of the room, and locked eyes with Acid Storm, a green Seeker of upper-class build. He did not require Sunstorm’s permission to speak his mind, or rather, did not want it.

                ‘What makes you think you’ll do any better?’ Sunstorm’s praise had begun to die down, and the spotlight turned on Acid Storm. ‘How can you promise anything for us? You’re not Megatron, you’re not even Starscream. You’re a second-tier seeker and you expect us to just take your word for it?’

                Murmurs of mutual agreement could be heard in the crowd as Sunstorm’s face wrinkled in feelings of betrayal. ‘Oh I’m sorry, were you chosen by Primus? Do you have better ideals than the founder of our movement?’

                Acid Storm shrugged. ‘I dunno, but I think I’d prefer siding with someone who looks like they have a plan than someone who bases their loyalty with blind faith in a dead tyrant.’

                ‘I base my judgement on patterns and logic!’ Sunstorm screamed. ‘Off divine judgement and—and _change!_ ’

                Mouth gaping, Acid Storm gestured to the gold being in front of him, craning his head from side to side in order to garner a reaction. ‘“Divine Judgement”, am I the only one hearing how crazy this is?’ He turned to Sunstorm and smirked. ‘You’re out of your league Sunstorm. Let Slipstream do her thing, and we won’t have to worry about any major scuffles tearing our army apart any further.’ He spread his arms aside, basking as others rallied behind him. ‘So, whaddyou say? Why don’t you take a break, lie down for a while and—.’

                A weapon cocked, and Acid Storm’s cockiness promptly drained from his face.

                ‘Don’t move Acid Storm.’ Hotlink ordered. A large, flaming-spewing weapon extended from his arm and pressed against the rainmaker’s lower rib.

                His lower lip drooped below his mouth as his jaw went slack. ‘Hotlink? Don’t tell me…’

                Bitstream and Redwing raised their null-rays and aimed them at Acid Storm and his supporters. ‘Slipstream is going to let Starscream take charge, and unfortunately, some of us want _change_ , and any change is better than Starscream.’

                In response to this sudden turn of events, Sunstorm made the widest, smuggest grin Ramjet had ever seen him make. ‘I expected mutiny, Acid Storm, which is why I took the initiative with a good portion of my followers beforehand.’ He raised a digit to the ceiling. ‘Well? Are there others? Will anyone else join this blasphemer?’

But no one made a sound.

 Hotlink stepped forward. ‘My Lord, what shall we do with these… sinners?’

Sunstorm stopped and eyed the rebel core through hungry optics. Ideas for punishments filled his skull like a swarm of wasps, too many and each just as violent and painful as the next. He couldn’t decide, they were all too delectable for him to waste.

                ‘I… no.’ he shook his head. ‘Throw them into the brig… for now at least. Leave them just long enough to confess their sins. I’ll deal with everything else afterwards. Perhaps I’ll cleanse them with flames. Peel their skin from their exoskeletons like an apple. Maybe I’ll remove their teeth, one by one and prolong their punishment for as long as possible. All in order to ensure their ascension of course.’

                Acid Storm was surrounded, the few who followed him, Hooligan and Nacelle among others, were soon incapacitated with stasis-cuffs and were dragged away screaming. Acid Storm raised his head to do the same. ‘This is insane! You are insane!’

                ‘Insane?’ Sunstorm shook his head and turned to Ramjet. ‘Ramjet, it appears that Acid Storm has mistaken me for someone named “Insane”, isn’t that strange?”

                Acid Storm managed to scream a “fuck you!” before drowning in the flood of servos that slapped a muffler over his mouth and dragged him out of the bridge.

                ‘No Acid Storm! I am not this “insane” individual you speak of. I am the messiah: the second coming of Megatron, and the third coming of Megatronus Prime. A child of Primus himself…’ He jabbed an index finger towards the nearest hover-cam, projecting his visage across the Nemesis’s bridge. ‘I am the one. Now my Decepticons… Starscream approaches. He will arrive here any moment, and I want to grant him the—how should I put it…?’ Sunstorm’s hand pulsed into a ball of flames that circled his lower arm. ‘ _Warmest_ of welcomes.’

The Aerospace Legion let out a hearty “hoo-ah” before arming themselves with the most formidable of surface-to-air weaponry and dog-fighting equipment.

Yes, Ramjet thought, this was going to be a good day.

\-----

This was going to be a bad day, Slipstream thought. She should have seen this coming. As commander of the Seekers, she had been thinking too much like a Shockwave and not enough like a Megatron, as she should have. Weeks she had spent trying to raise her plan’s success rate from an 88% to an 89%. Weeks stalling and keeping her soldiers preoccupied with fake assignments, just to keep them from interfering with her calculations. She shouldn’t have underestimated them, like Shockwave, she had thought of her soldiers as mere numbers. Their individual thoughts and freedoms failing to cross her mind. She should have set her plan in motion the days after her master assigned her the task. Now she had lost the very tools necessary to complete it, and without them, she was back to square one. Now only one thought was left lingering in her mind

                ‘Starscream…’

With the nigh impossibility left in finding Optimus Prime, Starscream was her main objective. Only he could fix this mess now. The trouble, of course was finding him before they did…


	25. Mints

‘Yes… yesss!’

All eyes in the pub were drawn to the enthusiastic Decepticon, jolting from her seat at the gambling table with her arms raised in celebration. Kicking the chair away, Blackarachnia returned to the bar-stools where Ironhide and Optimus sat, leaving a trail of confused glances from the participants at the game-tables behind her.

Optimus was leaning over his drink, watching Ironhide as he tapped his index finger playfully against the glass jar that housed their new pet spider. Noticing Blackarachnia, the Prime shoved the jar aside and motioned her to sit on the stool beside him.

                ‘Hey losers,’ Blackarachnia sneered, hopping up next to them. ‘Guess how much I—‘

                ‘Won?’ Ironhide scoffed, leaning over Optimus to take a gander at the former Decepticon’s empty palms. ‘I saw what happened over there, those organics beat you fair and square. Don’t lie, you were blown the frag out.’

                Blackarachnia squinted her optics and pressed a servo at the older mech. ‘Ironhide, are you a psychiatrist?’

                The Autobot was taken aback. ‘What? No? Why?’

                ‘Because you’re RONG!’ The arachnid’s head fell back in laughter, much to the amusement of no-one.

                Optimus sipped from his drink quietly. ‘It’d be funnier if not for the fact that his name is actually Ring.’

                Ironhide grunted. ‘You’re both wrong… it was definitely Rang.’

                ‘I thought it was Karl.’ Came a muffled voice from across the bar.

                ‘ANYWAYS!’ Blackarachnia slammed down her credit-chips on the counter. ‘My point is Ironhide is rung—I mean wrong. Sort-of…’

                Optimus’ glared at the money-pile in Blackarachnia’s possession. ‘Blackarachnia, where did you get this cash?’

                The Decepticon grinned, leaning over in order to keep the conversation private. ‘You see, while they were busy putting all their focus into the game at hand… I was playing a hand of my own in Decepticon ingenuity.’ She perked a tendril from her upper back, revealing a pair of gold coins lodged against its tip. ‘Just a few quick movements and presto, their pockets were promptly and gracefully picked by the epic-skill-master-of-awesome Blackarachnia!’

                Ironhide shook his head. ‘Blackarachnia steals? No dignity.’

                ‘You shouldn’t steal, Blackarachnia.’ Optimus agreed, sipping from his glass.

                ‘What?’ Blackarachnia jabbed an accusatory servo at the black Autobot. ‘I’ve seen you guys steal countless times! The fuel, the Energon? You defend yourself by calling it “borrowing” and drop the topic as soon as someone questions your morality!’

                ‘I think we all knew we were talking about “stealing”…’ Optimus mumbled to himself.

                ‘It was a direr time back then…’ Ironhide added, recounting the events in the same likeness as a war story. ‘We were stranded… _broken._ But that was our old life; we’re different people now.’

Blackarachnia blew hot air from her lips and slumped over. ‘It’s been an _afternoon_ since then, what “old life” could you possibly be talking about?’

Optimus sighed. ‘Nah, she’s right, we’re jerks… it’s no wonder we’re being hunted by half our race… o what a cruel, cruel punishment it is…’ He changed the conversation topic, quicker than the last one ended. ‘Since we’re obviously not going to tell those guys you robbed them… how much did you get?’

                Blackarachnia stared at the credit-chips in her hands and counted. ‘Five-thousand.’

                ‘And how much did you lose in the actual game?’

                She paused. ‘…Five-thousand.’

                Ironhide snorted. ‘Good job “epic-skill-master-of-awesome”… you lost just as much as you gained.’

                ‘Shut up.’

Optimus played with his drink, fingering the rim in disinterest.

                ‘Need a refill?’ The bartender asked.

                ‘Sure, that’ll be another thirty-credits right—.’ He stopped as soon as he got a better look at the barkeep. They were an egg-shaped alien with a mechanical outer shell, and a ring of tentacles that varied in size. Its face was shaped like that of a clown’s mask and took up the entire front of its body. On either side of it were nigh identical faces of different colours and styles. There was no doubt about it.

The alien poured another glass for the Prime with a thin tentacle. ‘Enjoy.’

                Optimus nodded and waited for the alien to retreat back into the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Prime turned to Ironhide. ‘Did you see that?’

                ‘I did.’

                ‘What?’ Blackarachnia turned to Optimus for support. ‘What am I missing here?’

                Optimus scanned his drink before indulging Blackarachnia. ‘This place is run by Quintessons.’

                Blackarachnia froze. ‘Is that bad? Should we be running right now? Because all cards on the table: I’d may have abandoned you by now if only I knew what a Quintesson was.’

                Ironhide leaned forward, looking past Optimus to face Blackarachnia. ‘You don’t know what a Quintesson is?’

                She didn’t seem ready to admit it, but did so anyway, tired of being the target of ridicule. ‘So what? I’m not as old as you… you don’t know what my life’s been like up ‘til now… you don’t know me.’

                ‘Yeah, but still… you don’t know what a Quintesson is?’

                She slumped, picked up a straw, dropped it into Prime’s drink, and began to sip from it rebelliously.

                ‘You’re welcome…’ Optimus said.

Ironhide let out a breath, and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. ‘Well I suppose I could tell you. We kind of hate the Quintessons.’

                ‘Why?’

                ‘We just do. Our races have had some conflicting ideals… some controversial statements have been made… and there has been some public inquiry…’

                ‘Yikes, what happened?’

                Ironhide scratched the side of his faceplate, wracking his aging brain for a place to start. ‘According to Quintesson history, Cybertron once went by the name of Quintessa— a planet ruled by the Quintessons before our race came to be. Depending on what you believe in, this is evidently untrue. Most takes on the great origin-story— the First Church’s, the Worshippers of the Guiding Hand, the Chronarchetects… they tend to imply a God of some kind created us in his image not long after the planet’s birth. The Atechnogenesists on the other hand believe that we came to be over several years of evolution from lesser technological beings made of levers and pulleys— bubbling from the planet’s crust. Whatever the case, Cybertron was our starting point, and before the mass-exodus, we’ve always been there, everyone but the Eugenicist’s agree.

 The Quintessons - claiming to have ruled over us in years past - implored us to relinquish at least half of Cybertron’s surface area to them. Obviously, we didn’t, and the Quints began invading. We had a bit of a cold-war, and were eventually infiltrated by over one-thousand Quints (a small, small, fraction compared to their actual population). The information started as rumours, but eventually spread until it became an undeniable fact that the Quintessons had become a regular minority on Cybertron. Some accepted them, even lived with them and – somehow - fostered Cybertronian-Quintesson hybrids with them. Don’t ask me any more on that, but I think it had to do with dumping fertilizer on a Hot Spot like a flowerbed. Anyways, for the most part the population hated them, and the invaders got what was coming for them…

 One day, a riot broke out, demanding equal rights for the Quints. Nominus Magnus made an appearance to quell the violence, but when that didn’t work, a Quintesson lobbed a power-cell at him, killing him instantly. Not long after did Leo Prime order the mass banishment of Quintesson occupants. Those who chose to stay were immediately executed, and – unfortunately - many stayed… Their offspring were hunted as well… though by the time Ultra Magnus came into command, most hybrids became accepted as run-of-the-mill Cybertronians.’ Ironhide let out a breath and sipped from his drink. ‘Anyways, the Quintessons abandoned Cybertron forever and placed their focus on the rest of the Galaxy. Our races have since been at odds with each-other, and, well, a couple of Cybertronians may not feel safe in a Quintessonian bar.’

                ‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia stared at Prime’s glass, fiddling with the straw. ‘How long ago was this?’

                Ironhide shrugged. ‘Fifty—maybe sixty thousand years ago. Why?’

                ‘Nothing…’ She took another sip from the drink, and then asked: ‘You were alive for over sixty-thousand years?’

                ‘What—no!’ Ironhide slammed the table. ‘I’m not _that_ old!’ He shook Optimus by the shoulder for support. ‘Come on Prime, tell her, I was born _after_ the Age of Expansion, right? I was a Golden Ager just like—…Prime?’

But Optimus wasn’t listening, he was staring at a figure moving towards the doors to the establishment. They were cloaked in a dark green and black, velvet poncho; face hidden underneath a long hood.

                ‘Prime? Do you know who that is? I am asking you.’

The cloaked figure tipped the bouncer and turned their back on the rest of the bar, revealing an orange symbol painted just above his shoulder-blades. Optimus recognized it immediately, it was the symbol he saw in the room from the whole Seacon ordeal. The room that erased the memories of anyone who looked into it, and did worse to those who stayed inside for too long. While Ironhide and Blackarachnia couldn’t remember what they saw, Optimus could still recall it clearly. The room was white all over, and on the wall at the far end was graffiti in the glowing shape of an orange crest. The very same orange crest that was printed on this stranger’s back.

                Optimus bolted from his stool, dropping his payment on the counter. ‘You guys stay here—I need to go. No killing, and especially no killing each-other while I’m gone.’

                ‘What?’

                ‘Bye!’ Optimus hurdled the stool and transformed, but by the time his tires hit the ground, the cloaked bot had already exited the bar. Optimus was stopped as the bouncers formed a meaty blockade in his wake. ‘Mind if I get past?’

The bouncers shook their heads in sync.

                Prime’s engine revved. ‘Oh I _so_ don’t have time for this.’ He then proceeded to transform into a hand-stand, pushing off the ground and somersaulting in the air before landing on the bouncer’s shoulders with both feet. He kicked off, smashing through the door and transforming back into his truck-form before hitting the ground and driving off in pursuit of the stranger.

                One alien bouncer raised his fist, prepared to give chase only the other to grab him by the shoulder, shaking his head. ‘Ahh, there’s no point, we can’t catch him… not with these skinny legs.’ He said, staring at his pencil-like thighs.

The other one sighed. ‘This is why we shouldn’t skip leg-day… should never skip leg day…’

                ‘My wife was right…’

Meanwhile, back at the bar, Ironhide and Blackarachnia sat in silence, an empty space between them. They still didn’t like each-other, in fact after their short experiences together they probably only hated each-other less. With Optimus gone, they didn’t really have a focal point for socializing, since neither wanted to socialize with each-other, and Optimus was always there to bridge the gap. In short, things were becoming really awkward.

Finally, Blackarachnia acted. She snatched a round glass-jar filled with green squares off of the counter, and tapped her servo at its rim. ‘Oi—mister bartender! These are mints, yeah? They’re free, right?’

The Quintesson’s head spun around, and took the shape of a grinning – clown face. ‘Of course, help yourself.’

                ‘Good!’ Her head spun around to face Ironhide. ‘Ironhide! I dare you to eat all of these mints at once!’

Ironhide sighed. ‘Blackarachnia… just what do you take me for, some kind of scrub? Do I look like the kind of guy who is going to indulge in your childish little—’ He scooped the jar from her servos, unhooked his face-plate and raised the jar above his head. ‘YOU’RE ON!’

\-----

There it was… his flagship, _his_ weapon.

The Nemesis was less than a mile from Starscream’s position. Its purple and black scheme glistening in the light as it hovered over the city-scape. It was going to be back where it belonged in time… It was going to be in his possession once again. Starscream’s jet thrusters flared, sending him thundering through the sky towards the war-ship.

Inside the Nemesis, Sunstorm and Ramjet stood side by side, watching through the main-monitor as Starscream approached. Sunstorm was getting excited.

                ‘Oh my God. There he is!’

                ‘Yeah?’ Ramjet watched as Starscream transformed, landing on the ship’s hull and sending vibrations through the ship’s inner workings. Surrounding him on the hull was at least three-quarters of the Aerospace Legion, all watching him through anxious optics. ‘I don’t know… are you sure this is a good idea?’

                He turned to the cone-head, disappointed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of him, Ramjet.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘Look at his waist, he’s thin and useless. He’s a hack, remember?’

Ramjet snarled. ‘I’m not afraid of anything but…’ he shook his head. ‘Never mind, what now?’

Sunstorm looked at him like he were an idiot. Which with all respect, he was. ‘What do you think?’

                Outside, Starscream gazed upon the tens of seekers, hovering and perched across different areas of the Nemesis’ hull. He spread his arms out wide and greeted his former soldiers. ‘Decepticons, I’m home!’

                When he didn’t get a response by the surrounding legion, Starscream dropped his arms to his sides and slouched. ‘Okay then… Slipstream! I know you can hear me, why don’t you come on out of your cave so we can discuss business matters? Quickly, I don’t want to miss my shows!’

There was a brief air of silence before Starscream got a response. Like a well-oiled machine, the Aerospace Legion raised their null-rays as one.

A storm of missile and laser-fire erupted around Starscream. Flashing and smoking in different shades of red and purple, blinding and deafening the former Commander until the sound carried its weight. Starscream was struck down, the explosives creating a plume of black, flaming smoke that bellowed and bulged into a large ball over Starscream’s position. Through the cloud of dark crimson, the shadow of Starscream could be seen… lying motionless on its back.

 


	26. The Rising Storm

                ‘Is that all of them? That can’t be all of them.’

                ‘Mmf.’

                Blackarachnia searched the table-top for a stray mint, patting her claws against it playfully. ‘Well, I guess you made a geek out of me.’

                ‘Mmf.’ Ironhide’s cheeks were puffed out as far as they could go. A single mint could be seen poking out from between his lips.

                ‘Then again the bet’s only won if you’re actually able to swallow it all. Anyways back to what we were talking about before: strongest Decepticon you faced off with other than Megatron – go!’

                ‘Mmf.’

                ‘Overlord? Yeah, yeah I could see that. Point-One percenters almost make it a little too easy though…’

                ‘Mmf.’

                ‘Alright, alright, my turn. Strongest Autobot other than Magnus eh? Easy, Optimus.’

                ‘Mmf!’

                ‘Well he did kind of kill the main bad guy after all. Fine, better answer, um…’ She stopped and thought about this for a moment before continuing. ‘Elita-One, she was pretty badass.’

Ironhide blinked. ‘Mmf!’

                ‘You knew her? No kidding, small universe… Okay, let’s do another round, no Point-One percentors, and no Primes. Who do you pick?’

                ‘Mmf.’

Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘Starscream?! Really? Other than Megatron and the Warriors Elite, the most powerful Decepticon you’ve ever faced is Starscream?’

                ‘Mmf.’

                ‘Hey, I’m not judging, I’m just saying that if I ever wanted a body-guard, Starscream wouldn’t be one of my top picks. Besides, we both hate him for it. He betrayed me… he shot you… etc. At the end of a day he was kind of a jerk—‘

                ‘YOUUUU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!’

Blackarachnia jolted up, her optics darting to the source of the booming voice. Ironhide had just managed to keep most of the mints in his mouth, allowing just one to pop from his lips. The voice came from across the bar where a blue mechanoid sat. The mech pulled his head from the nook of his arm and faced the two. Blackarachnia recognized him, but the robot seemed too drunk to recognize either of them.

                Thundercracker’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about…’

Blackarachnia exchanged looks with Ironhide, and the two swore in unison.

                ‘Mmf mff.’

                ‘Oh shit.’

\-----

Optimus raced through the crowds of organics. ‘Come on… I just saw you, where could you have—‘

Escaping the crowd, Optimus found himself standing in the middle of the main-pathway. The stranger was nowhere in sight. If he had his axe out, he would have thrown it on the ground in frustration. The one person he had been seeking ever since he made his “mistake” was within his grasp, and now they were gone, again. Calming himself, Optimus took his time to figure out where he was. He had dashed out from the bar at such a pace that he hadn’t bothered to check his surroundings. Ahead of him was a massive tent, crowded with organics. _I’m bound to find where I need to be there_. He thought. Upon entering the tent, a small, elf-like alien had darted towards him.

                ‘You!’ the alien spoke. ‘You, are you Optipotamus? All I have to work with is a small description so I’ve been asking everyone.’

                Optimus chuckled. ‘I’m Optimus, but—‘

                ‘It’s about time, quickly, the show’s about to start.’

                ‘What?’

                The alien grabbed the taller mech by the wrist, guiding him deeper into the tent and beyond the crowd. She dragged him through several turns as other aliens of similar build would applied makeup to the large robot as he was taken deeper through the tent.

                ‘Wait—I think there has been some kind of mistake.’

                ‘If someone didn’t apply your makeup properly then I’ll be sure to get them fired. Otherwise get your vocal-cords ready.’ The alien led him to through a passage and out the other end of the tent, pushing Optimus forward. ‘Go get’em Optipotamus.’

 Blocking his optics from the light, Optimus bumbled onto a stage, standing before a crowd of aliens measuring up to what seemed like thousands. There was a microphone in front of him and a band behind him. He looked up and saw an advertisement for the show—featuring a lead singer that clearly wasn’t him (looking more like a hippo than a robot), sharing only a similar colour-scheme and name. The crowd and band both stared at him in silent confusion, waiting for him to speak.

                ‘Alright…’ Optimus whispered to himself, cracking his fingers. ‘Time to get awkward,’ he grabbed the mic.

\-----

Sunstorm was ecstatic. The gold Seeker raced to the upper decks, passing through pristine hallways, lined with saluting soldiers until he was met with the main lift that would take him to the ship’s hull. Ramjet was close behind, afraid his joint-commander was about to forget him. The two waited as the lift brought them to the top, but Sunstorm was already bouncing on his heels.

                He turned to Ramjet. ‘You excited?’

                He nodded, deadpanned. ‘Yeah.’

                Sunstorm faced away, smiling like a child. ‘I’m excited.’

                The lift doors opened, revealing the tens of saluting seekers with their steaming guns, and the cloud of smoke gathering at the edge of the ship.

Sunstorm approached Hotlink, who proceeded to bow his head loyally.

‘Is this it? Did we kill him?’

                ‘It appears so, Commander. We unleashed quite a barrage and—well look.’ He pointed at the cloud. It was big enough to shroud Starscream’s entire body.

                ‘Hah, we—we really did it—we killed the betrayer!’ Sunstorm took a stance, and raised a fiery palm above his head. ‘O how the darkness of this world feeds upon death. Do not celebrate this victory Decepticons, but take pity on the one who has fallen. He had the potential to be great, but the sins of greed and pride had corrupted him, feeding him, turning him into a—WHAT THE PRIMUS?!’

                Starscream stumbled out of the smoke. His paint chipped, and his armour dented, but otherwise perfectly intact and functional. ‘Oof… That actually hurt.’ The Commander cracked his neck on either side, and checked his nails before greeting them once again. ‘I chipped a nail, damn… Slipstream! You’re—…a lot orange-r than I remember.’

                In turn, Sunstorm leaped from the lift, down a level, but still on a higher platform than where Starscream was standing on the hull. ‘What are you doing?!’

                Starscream stared at his feet before answering. ‘Standing. Living— Am I answering these properly? I know you all want to know everything about me – believe me, I understand – but I’m not entirely sure what the point of all this is.’

                Sunstorm was losing it. ‘We just fired three-dozen silos-worth of explosives at you.’

                ‘Yeah, I remember. I was there.’

                ‘You’re supposed to be dead!’

                Starscream folded his arms. ‘According to who? The dead police? Who says I’m supposed to be dead?’

                Sunstorm’s lips quivered as he tried to come up with a response. ‘I—I do!’

                ‘You do.’

                ‘Yes!’

                ‘Not Slipstream?’

                Sunstorm huffed. ‘We’ve made the executive decision to no longer follow her anymore. All of this…’ he gestured to the combined Seeker forces, ‘…was an effort of our own.’

                ‘You…’ Starscream bent backwards laughing. ‘You! You are actually trying to become a main player? Who even are you? Some Genericon? I-heh- I don’t even know your name. Do you even have a name? Is it “Steve”?’

                This hurt Sunstorm more than anything, and Ramjet could see it. The golden seeker swished his cape aside and raised his hand to the heavens. ‘I am Sunstorm! Second coming of Megatron, third coming of Megatronus—‘

                ‘Blahblahblah. A Megatron fanatic eh? Maybe a bit of First Church cynicism in you, but hey, I get the appeal.’ He brushed off his legs and took a long step forward. ‘If you’re plan was to kill me, Sunstorm, then you obviously haven’t done a very good job of it.’

                ‘Stay back! How are you even—?’

                ‘Alive? Please, Sunspot, I’ve been burned, tortured, blasted, and punched for years under Megatron’s tutelage. After decades of abuse, my body had grown a sort of resistance to it. Did you know that if you shot yourself every day with lower-caliber bullets, you’d gain a greater resistance to higher-caliber ones? It’s the same basic principle, after experiencing countless beat-downs from Autobot and Megatron alike, my frame has grown to survive far worse punishment. Three-dozen silos worth of explosives, Sandstorm? I’ve stomached _nukes_. I am the Aerospace Commander of the God-Damned Decepticon Armada. How else do you think I’ve survived being _me_ this long?’

                Sunstorm’s remarks, and demeanor were gone, his entire plan had begun to crumble in his hands. But then he remembered, they could always just hit him harder… and harder… until he finally broke. ‘Decepticons—!’

                ‘Shush.’ Starscream made a motion with his hand. ‘Before you screw up again, would you please take a moment of your time to listen… mm… yeah… you hear that?’

                Sunstorm rolled his optics, he wasn’t going to delay this any longer. ‘I don’t hear—wait.’ But he _did_ hear it. ‘What is that…? Is that… music?’

                The melody grew louder, and louder. Until finally, the tones could be heard by all. ‘What…? What is that?!’ Ramjet roared.

                ‘ _Ride of the Valkyries_ by Richard Wagner.’ Starscream said. ‘I first heard it in a film I watched during my off-duties on the planet Earth, fantastic name for the film.’ He raised his hands in what appeared to be surrender, only for the music to raise a pitch. From behind Starscream rose a large, twin-rotor’d Cybertronian helicopter. The music had been blasting from a pair of speakers strapped to its cockpit. It hovered above the hull, staring down Sunstorm with cluster of rockets. Starscream smirked. ‘ _Apocalypse Now.’_

Obsidian let loose a barrage of missiles and rockets, homing in and blowing apart several individual seekers. Missiles shredded the ground, spiralling Sunstorm’s forces into disarray. Those who tried to aim, sputtered and backfired, and those who tried to form a logical thought ended up doing the same. The music had done its job.

                Sunstorm charged forward, spewing a stream of flames from his palms at the helicopter. ‘Decepticons! Take that chopper down!’

Several Seekers did as they were told and transformed for flight. Unfortunately for them, Starscream had already transformed, firing his own payload at the grounded fliers.

                Starscream’s superior maneuverability in the air drew their fire as Obsidian laid thick on the rocket fire. ‘Or you could surrender.’ Starscream cackled. ‘Nah, who am I kidding? You’re all going to die.’ Starscream roared across the sky, lengthing the Nemesis in no time. Behind him came several jets, firing at him from behind. Starscream did the same, firing a cluster of heat-seeking missiles that rounded back and took down the enemy missiles, and the one who fired them. From below, civilians watched in awe as the massive war-ship passed overhead. Bright, neon, lights flashing back and forth, and jets circling, and thrusting at each-other as they exchanged fire. Starscream transformed mid-air and pressed forward. Activating his buzz-saw, the Aerospace Commander lunged forward and sawed a seeker in half. As another charged him, Starscream grabbed the jet by the wing and dragged the poor Seeker back down towards the Nemesis. Crashing the jet against the hull, and using them as a launching pad to transform and take flight once again. Starscream circled back around Obsidian and focused his fire on the barricades protecting Ramjet and Sunstorm and any other airborne fliers that came his way.

                ‘I didn’t know you saw _Apocalypse Now_.’ Starscream said to the helicopter.

                ‘I didn’t, I just happen to enjoy Wagner. Well, that, and I’ve always had a fascination in using music as a means of psychological warfare.’

                ‘Well good on you, because it’s working.’ Starscream transformed midair and grabbed a flying missile before carelessly chucking it back at the poor Decepticon that fired it. ‘This would be a lot easier if Thundercracker were here to break apart their firepower with his sonic-booms. Where is that idiot anyway?’

                ‘I’m afraid the last I saw of him was in the pub we left him in.’

Starscream snarled. ‘I need to teach him a lesson after this… and Strika? I know she hasn’t a means of flying but—‘

                ‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about her, my consort always finds a way.’

\-----

The Nemesis was within Strika’s sight. From the top of the trade-building – a massive skyscraper that loomed over the rest of the city – Strika sat idly in her vehicle mode, watching as the warship hovered in line with the building’s length. As soon as it came into her line of sight, Strika cannons flared and fired a payload at the ship’s underbelly. Her firepower tore chunks out of the Nemesis’ outer shell and left a clear, visible scar running through its surface. It did some damage, but left much to be desired in Strika’s opinion. Plan B: Strika activated her thrusters and fumed forward, driving off the side of the trade-building and ramming head-first into the scar, breaking apart the weakened layer and crashing into the Nemesis’ lower levels. While getting into the Nemesis was a success, Strika happened to have crashed into a narrow area that had been guarded by at least four armed guards. On one side were rows of laser-cells, populated with over a dozen flinching Seekers of different build, on the other was a plethora of widened optics and slacked jaws. Shocked by the sudden incursion of a tank busting into their cell-block, a lowly-seeker-grunt darted for the alarm while the others stared at Strika, awestruck. Strika was too fast for them and rotated her turret, firing a barrage of rocket and machine-gun fire that tore the four Seekers apart. From her back-side, Strika could feel a prickling feeling and turned her turret to face the other way. On the other side of her were four more Seekers, one of which had been firing at her with an assault rifle. The leader of the bunch, a red and purple Seeker pointed a shaking finger at the tank.

                ‘You killed them!’

Strika remained in vehicle mode, staring at them through the barrel of a cannon.

                ‘You can’t do that!’

Strika transformed, kicking off the ground and leaping at the group. Before her feet hit the ground, Strika thrusted her fist upon the leading Seeker, smashing his skull and turning his head into pulp. The other four opened fire, much to Strika’s amusement. The Decepticon bruiser grabbed one by the shoulder and punched her fist through their chest before throwing their remains on top of another. Trapped beneath his partner’s weight, the seeker could only watch as Strika pressed her foot against the dead Seeker’s back, increasing the pressure between them until the bottom Seeker’s body caved in upon itself from the weight—it’s head popping off like a cork.

                Strika grinned beneath her faceplate: ‘You were saying?’ Counting on her fingers, Strika deduced that there should only be one left—

The alarm went off—at the other end of the hallway was the remaining guard, legs shaking, and a servo grappled around the emergency lever.

                ‘Oh for the love of…’ Strika raised her cannon and fired a single shot that burst the soldiers head into a gooey mess. With her other servo, Strika activated her comm-link. ‘Obsidian, it’s me. I’m in the ship—but it looks like I triggered some kind of alarm.’

From the cells, Acid Storm stepped forward, wrapping his digits around the bars. ‘Oi! You!’

                ‘…Understood, I’ll manage.’

Acid Storm raised his voice. ‘Hey! I know you can hear me, just who are you—‘

Strika lunged towards the cell, towering over the imprisoned seeker. ‘ _What?!’_

                ‘Wow.’ The rain-maker had to take a step back. ‘You are _big!_ ’

                ‘Thanks.’

                ‘Whatever the case, you’re working against Sunstorm, right? You’re trying to kill him?’

                Strika shrugged. ‘That’s the plan, we’re securing the Nemesis in the name of Starscream.’ She cringed, hating the taste of his name on her tongue.

                A blue and red Seeker: Nacelle stepped forward, clapping his hands. ‘Good, great! That means we’re on the same side!’

                Acid Storm placed a stern hand on the excited Seeker’s shoulder and raised another in Strika’s direction. ‘Free us, and we’ll help you take this ship back.’

                Strika considered this. ‘Hmm.’ She turned towards the door, and began walking. ‘Nah.’

                ‘Wait! You can’t take down an entire ship on your own!’

                Strika glared at him once more. ‘What are you, a cop?’

                ‘No! There are at least seventy other soldiers on this ship—all coming to kill you. I don’t care what they say about you Strika, or how big you are—you’re still just one Decepticon.’ Acid Storm shook his head. ‘You’re working for Starscream, yeah? Ask him right now, chances are he’s going to want as many soldiers under his command as possible. Especially for something such as this.’

                Strika stared down the Rainmaker and sighed, punching her fist through the nearest monitor, shutting down the laser-bars, and setting the dozen Seekers free. ‘Just stay out of my way and provide cover fire. Got it?’

                The Seekers chanted in unison: ‘Ma’am, yes ma’am!’

                ‘Good.’ Strika fired at the wall, creating a passage into a nearby corridor. ‘Then let the slaughter begin.’


	27. Bar Pals

                Sunstorm’s flames splashed and mutated into a whirling, red, vortex. The exploding tunnel tore through the sky, clipping Starscream wing and setting alight a small blaze. It didn’t last long as it was quickly doused as a result of Starscream’s aerial maneuverability and the raging air currents. Sunstorm couldn’t hold it in any longer, he bent his arms forward, and his optics sizzled with light. His servos clutching at the empty air as he screamed until his vocalizer let go. How he overestimated Starscream—the fact that his troops couldn’t lay a scratch on him, and that blasted music… _Stop, Sunstorm._ He told himself, panting. The music may have left him disjointed, but he was better than that. _Translate your rage—roll it into a ball and then swallow it. Use it to fuel your flames._ He took a breath, and set his arms ablaze. Nothing changed, and Sunstorm prayed he knew why. Starscream was one jet – a jet with an extra layer of armour and a resistance to light bullet-fire and other physical depressions – but he was still just _one Decepticon_. What could he possibly have been doing wrong?! He had three Seekers chasing the betrayer through the sky as the rest fired upon Obsidian, who proceeded to shoot down any incoming attacks. And that music… it was so loud and so… _complex._ They were scrambled and disoriented, and it was keeping them from taking any effective hits. _Relax,_ Sunstorm told himself. _Do what you always do when you need to calm down…—Technora – when you lose yourself—Twaron… Perlite—just keep reciting all the fire-retardant materials you know – Modacrylic… Wool: they cannot be cleansed, nor corrupted—_ _Glass… Nomex— they are perfect just as they are. Kevlar… Arselon… Brick._ He felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he knew, if God hadn’t wanted him to succeed, he wouldn’t have made it this far. He hadn’t doubted himself once until now, and he wasn’t going to start. With a clearer head on his shoulders, Sunstorm knew why they were losing.

                ‘The music.’ He had already considered it a facet, and it was obvious enough, even with the psychological effects of the song, but only now did he realize that he would go nowhere if things carried on like this. Another trial, nothing more. Sunstorm analyzed the situation as he could: Obsidian was the main-line of defense. In a sense, they both were. Obsidian’s bulky helicopter form took the defensive by focusing his power in shooting down any incoming missiles, while Starscream drew their fire. If they focused their attack on Obsidian, then Starscream would respond with a full-on offensive on his part. Too risky. Focusing all fire on Starscream would result in the same effect, if not more difficult to pull off hits thanks to Starscream’s evasiveness in the air. This was indeed one of Obsidian’s famous war-tactics. He knew what he had to do now.

                ‘Ramjet!’ he called, darting his eyes to the source of the heaviest firepower on the ship.

                Ramjet held a pair of rifles in either hand, spraying his bullets recklessly at the flying Aerospace Commander. ‘Come on you coward! I want to see you come and _try_ killing me!’

Sunstorm shook the cone-head by the shoulder, leaving a burning imprint that Ramjet somehow didn’t seem to notice. Regardless he lowered his guns and glared at Sunstorm with enough rage and adrenaline to make it look as if he were about to rip the head off of the golden Seeker. The psychological effects of the music had done numbers on Ramjet, as he feared. The brute was flinching at every word and only seemed to nod at random frequencies.

                ‘Ramjet, listen to me. I need you and a small team to draw Starscream’s fire away from the Nemesis. Just separate him from Obsidian, get him as far away from the music as you can, and take care of him there. Can you do this, Ramjet?’

                Ramjet nodded heavily.

                ‘I need to hear you say it.’

                ‘I can do this.’ Ramjet raised his gun to another small group of grounded Seekers. ‘You four, with me, rise up and draw Starscream’s fire.’ They all leapt up and transformed as one. Aerial Seekers returned to the Nemesis as Ramjet’s team took their place. Laser fire exchanged between Starscream and Ramjet—singing the skin on their wing-tips and turning the exchange into their own personal dogfight. As Ramjet let loose a missile, he’d ascend out of Starscream’s firing range, prompting the Seeker to chase after him to supply a counterattack. It didn’t take long for Obsidian to realize something was off.

                ‘Starscream, maintain formation! We cannot afford to separate under this kind of pressure. Not if we wish to succeed.’

                ‘Succeed?’ Starscream laughed at the helicopter as he chased after Ramjet’s group. ‘Oh we’ll succeed, Obsidian. When I’m here, there’s no debate on whether we’ll succeed.’

                ‘This is no time for flattering yourself—in fact it’s the worst time! We’re in the middle of a firefight, and the only way for us to be done with it is to follow my strategy accordingly. If you dare deviate from it, then our entire plan will crumble within our grasp!’

                ‘I think I’ll be fine.’ Starscream said plainly, resorting to the use of his radio.

                ‘You realize that you’re playing right into their hands, right? That they’re trying to separate you from me on purpose? You’re doing exactly what Sunstorm wants, and you don’t even know it.’

                ‘Oh, my dear, dear, Obsidian, but I _do_ know it…’ Starscream thrusted forward, full speed at Ramjet and his squad until he was out of earshot of Obsidian’s music. He fired a missile cluster that blew apart one Seeker’s back-thrusters, forcing the jet to lower its altitude. Before it could get anywhere however, Starscream had managed to catch up to it and finish it off with a laser blast through the mid-section. ‘…and It’s exactly what _I_ want, too.’

\-----

Thundercracker slammed his glass against the table as Ironhide and Blackarachnia watched him in silence.

                ‘Lemme tell you about what kind of stupid people our race provides’ Thundercracker said. ‘There’s two of them: those who overestimate Starscream, and those who underestimate him. The ones who overestimate Starscream are the few fools who believe his pontification. They worship him as a prized fighter due to his history in the Decepticons and defensive prowess. Starscream is one of them, he thinks himself invincible and perfect when really, it just takes some internal damage and a lack of flight control to make him worthless. But those who underestimate him—you can tell they haven’t left the hab-suite in a while when they say they think they can take him. Starscream overestimates himself… but he is far from the weakest Decepticon. He’s survived battles that would give Sixshot wet dreams. It bought him the position as Megatron’s sub-commander, and it’s proven his worth several times. Why do you think Megatron kept him around for so long? If Starscream was half the failure everyone thought he was, then he wouldn’t have been at Megatron’s side for thousands of years.’ He took a final sip from his drink, finishing it off with a satisfied grin. ‘And that, my friends, is why you shouldn’t have an opinion on Starscream, or on, well, anything. Ever.’

                He stopped what he was doing, and stared at Ironhide. ‘Speaking of, have we met?’

Ironhide’s puffed out cheeks pulsed with mints as he mumbled a response.

                ‘He gets that a lot.’ Blackarachnia assured the Seeker, trying to manage her anonymous composure.

                Thundercracker nodded to her. ‘Hey Blackarachnia… you _are_ Blackarachnia, right?’

                ‘I get that a lot, too.’ She said aside.

                ‘Nah, you’re definitely the drone that betrayed us.’ Thundercracker shrugged. ‘So, what have you been doing since then?’

                Blackarachnia flinched, resting her head on her servo skeptically. ‘Nothing much… to be honest I expected you to be a bit more antagonistic after the whole me-betraying-the-Decepticons-and-nearly-killing-Starscream fiasco.’

Thundercracker raised a brow. ‘You’re kidding, right? I love it when people screw over my superiors. I mean, I’m still mad, but seeing Starscream cry like an empty almost made it worth it.’

                ‘I could have sworn you just said that Starscream was not to be underestimated or something.’

                The Seeker raised his hands above his head in defense. ‘I said he shouldn’t be either, doesn’t mean I _like_ him for it. Understanding a person and liking them are two completely different things.’ he pointed a digit at Ironhide. ‘Oh yeah, I just remembered where I saw you from. You’re the one who shot Skywarp in the head, weren’t you?’

Ironhide didn’t say a word. He glared at the seeker through bright, cyan optics; readying his cannons for a fight whilst still trying to keep all the mech-friendly mints in his mouth.

                ‘He is.’ Blackarachnia admitted, rewarding herself with a look of hatred from Ironhide. ‘What? You know there’s no way around this.’

                ‘Wait… you’re _with_ him?’ Thundercracker squinted at the spider before leaning back on his stool, and shaking his head. ‘You joined the Autobots, Blackarachnia? _The Autobots?_ ’

                ‘Not the Autobots necessarily, just these two scrubs. I don’t particularly like being with them, but they’re the only Autobots that’ll take me. The only Cybertronians, actually.’

                Thundercracker slapped himself on the forehead. ‘No, I get that, believe me, I can understand doing what you can to survive, but you’re having a drink with an associate of the most wanted… Autobot… in…’ He stopped, and began scanning the bar-area. ‘The Prime. He’s here, isn’t he?’

                ‘You just missed him.’ Blackarachnia said, folding her arms triumphantly. ‘He had something to do, and ditched us. If you think you can catch him, then hey, go for it. But I warn you, Optimus has been pretty good at keeping himself hidden away from the public eye. He’s what some might call a master of stealth…’

\-----

                ‘BILLIE JEAN IS-A-NOT MY LOVER~!’

The crowd cheered as Prime’s face came alight along each of the hovering view-screens in the sky, projecting Optimus’s face for the whole concert to see.

                ‘SHE’S JUST A GIRL WHO—CLAIMS THAT I AM THE ONE~!’

\-----

                ‘I just never expected you to be the kind to pry for power.’

Ironhide and Thundercracker were on their feet now; the latter standing at least a foot taller than the older weapons specialist.

                ‘Starscream is the one I’m representing. I hate to admit it, but you and I are in the same boat, we’re both aligned with the bottom tiers of our factions out of a major lack of respect. I just don’t understand why you’re sided with an Autobot who’s also hunted by the Decepticons. Wouldn’t going your own be just as safe?’

                Blackarachnia shrugged, standing alongside Ironhide. ‘Eh, what can I say? Misery loves company.’

                ‘Fair enough.’

                ‘So what happens now? We still outnumber you two to one, should we be expecting a fight or—?’

Before she finished her sentence, dozens of organic bar-regulars had stepped up from their stools, training a heavy-brand blaster on the three Cybertronians. The Quintesson from behind the bar span around, a tentacle curled around a blaster each.

                Thundercracker made an assuring gesture to the surrounding organics and sat down opposite to Blackarachnia. ‘Okay, look, you know how much the rest of the galaxy hates our war—of course you do. The image of metal clashing with metal has become an omen across the cosmos because of us.’ Weapons retreated as the aliens returned to their seats. ‘If we so much as draw a weapon, the authorities here will dismantle us. It’d be best to settle our conflict elsewhere, I think. Unless you fancy having yourself dragged all the way to jail leaving a trail of collateral damage behind you that is.’

                ‘So that’s a no?’ Blackarachnia raised a claw to Ironhide. ‘I mean, this guy _did_ kill your buddy. I’d rather we finish things here and take you out of the picture in case you cause our friend any trouble—assuming you’re not as big a coward as they say.’

Ironhide made a grunt in Blackarachnia’s direction as Thundercracker cocked his head.

                ‘People say I’m a coward?! Are people really saying I’m—? Oh, forget it.’ He turned to Ironhide. ‘And Skywarp? He’s alive. It’s taken some time, but it shouldn’t be long before he’s back on his feet.’

Ironhide blinked, and stared at his lap, appearing somehow relaxed. For a second, Blackarachnia could have sworn she saw a smile cross his pursed lips. He mumbled something softly as Thundercracker spoke up once more.

                ‘Although it’s opened a whole other can of problems I have to deal with, so frankly, I’m still pretty pissed at you for what you’ve done. Until then…’ Thundercracker rose from his seat and transformed into his jet-form; nose pointed towards the ceiling. ‘I think I’m going to go kill Optimus Prime.’

                Blackarachnia extended a servo desperately at the seeker. ‘Wait! You can’t go yet! It’s imperative that you stay!’

                ‘And why’s that?’ the jet asked.

                Blackarachnia paused to think of a reason before continuing. ‘Because I can’t afford all these drinks… and I need you to spot me some cash…?’

Thundercracker didn’t move. ‘…Why would I do that ever? Like, ever-ever?’ He then proceeded to activate his thrusters before tearing through the ceiling. Bursting into the sky and leaving a broken bar in his wake. Sawdust and rubble fell on the once-glimmering bar-table as the bright light of the sun poured in, stunning all occupants.

                The Quintesson swore in a different language over the destruction of his ceiling as Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head. ‘Well, damn.’


	28. Talon's Invasion

Blackarachnia stared at the gaping ceiling for what felt like minutes. It was actually about four seconds, but she didn’t care about that. Hands on hips, the Decepticon took a moment to exhale through pursed lips before slapping the front of her thighs and gesturing Ironhide to leave. ‘Well, we did what we could. How’s about we head back to the Ark and check out some of those movies you bought.’

Ironhide grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him. He shook his head vigorously. The mints had still impeded his speech, but Blackarachnia knew what he meant.

                ‘Yeah, I get it. You want to head to the rescue and get to Optimus before that cracker gets to him.’ She pressed her fingers against her chin in reconsideration. ‘That “Thundercracker”, I mean.’ She sighed. ‘To be honest, I’m not really feeling it. Just not in a fighting mood today I suppose. You know what they say… don’t blame the player, blame the marketing executives that thought it was a good idea to push the release date of a game for Christmas.’ She motioned to her baggage. ‘So, Ark?’

The large Autobot rolled his optics and grabbed Blackarachnia by the head, lifting her up and dragging her towards the exit.

                ‘Ow. Ow. Ow.’ Blackarachnia scratched at Ironhide’s servos before quickly relenting.

                Ironhide dragged the Decepticon to the entrance, stepping past horrified and screaming civilians along the way. As he reached the door, the two, thin-legged bouncers stepped forward, blocking the exit.

                Releasing herself from Ironhide’s grasp, Blackarachnia massaged the top of her helm and scowled at the bouncers. ‘Hey, what gives?’

                The left bouncer made a gesture that could best be translated as: “are you serious?” ‘Um, you just destroyed our bar.’

                ‘We kind of need that. For our jobs— and our living.’

Blackarachnia hunched her shoulders behind her head and grinned. ‘Nah.’

                ‘What—‘

                ‘Nah, no. I disagree.’

                The bouncer’s voice tuned to an antagonistic tone. ‘What do you mean, you disagree?’

                ‘In my opinion—‘

                ‘No! One of you just destroyed our bar, and that doesn’t even compare to—.’ The bouncer stopped and took a breath, shutting his eyelids and massaging the rim of his potato-shaped nose with his meaty fingers. ‘No, have you even heard what’s happening at the other end of this sector? Do you even know the kinds of reports we’ve been getting?’

                Blackarachnia shook her head.

                ‘There’s a Decepticon warship hovering over the south-end. It’s under siege and taking fire above a civilized area.’

                Blackarachnia’s optics drifted aside as she considered this development. ‘Well that _does_ sound pretty badass.’

                ‘You are breaking the Tyrest Accord!’

                The Decepticon turned to Ironhide, only to find that he was just as confused as she was. She turned back to the bouncer. ‘Okay, full disclosure here, those guys are not us. The guy who broke your roof? Not us either.’

                ‘You know we can’t afford to take the word of someone whose race is notorious for deception.’

                ‘Well I mean… that’s _kind_ of racist, so…’

                ‘Look, even if it wasn’t—we just saw you converse with that Decepticon, and we’re supposed to let you leave?’

                Blackarachnia laughed. ‘Well, what are you going to do? Arrest us?’

                Her smile and confidence ceased as the surrounding bar-regulars advanced on them.

                ‘…But not really …right? Guys?’

\-----

                Optimus felt his face hit the ground. Clearly, crowd-surfing was not a smart idea, especially not after being alerted by the authorities that posing as a famous singer, was in fact illegal, even if you were the one forced into it by idiot interns. It wasn’t until the great Optipotamus stormed on-stage did things begin to get intense. On the ground, Optimus transformed into his truck-mode and drove off as the crowd parted around them. Either the authorities simply couldn’t keep up on foot, or they decided real quick that chasing him wasn’t worth it after all. He kept driving, until finally, he had reached a point in the city where the civilians had stopped pointing at him and laughing. He was indeed, an idiot. Of course it wasn’t his fault that he was led on stage and placed on camera. Everything that happened in between, however… that, he would tell no-one. In any case, he was just as thankful that his big appearance didn’t attract any attention, especially so with the whispers of a Decepticon incursion he had been hearing about. He transformed into robot mode and began strolling through the streets. He needed to get back to the Ark before they found him, of course he needed to pick up his crew and belongings first. There was bound to be a map of some kind somewhere that would give him directions back to the bar. He wondered how Ironhide and Blackarachnia were holding up.

\-----

Thundercracker was surprisingly sober. He drank quite a bit and felt like utter slag while he was still in the bar, however actually getting some fresh air high and above the township’s meager occupants had helped him feel all the more refreshed. It didn’t explain why he was sober though. Either those free mints relieved Engex levels or he had Energon-negative drinks. Didn’t matter, he didn’t really expect to find Optimus anyhow. Calling it a city was an overstatement, but the shoddy market area was still big enough to—wait, nope, there he was.

Optimus had been standing directly below him. The Prime was searching through stocks, apparently looking for something he wasn’t finding. This was Thundercracker’s chance—but no. He circled back. Even if he fired a payload at him, there was a good chance Optimus would survive it, and the civilians… he wasn’t happy about dragging them into this mess either. Thundercracker dropped from the sky, landing in the middle of the street of where Prime had been approaching before hiding himself in a nearby alleyway. It wasn’t like he cared for the civilians, but, it was his responsibility to keep things personal between him and the Prime. The rest were uninvolved. He readied his incendiary gun, watching Optimus from the shadows. He wasn’t going to mess this up. On one hand he could run in, guns blazing and catch him by surprise—but he was better than that. He wasn’t like Starscream or Strika. He wasn’t a brute. He was going to sort this out cleanly and without collateral. A quick shot to the head would do it… maybe. He was a good shot, but perhaps not good enough to shoot him from where he was standing. Even if he did nail him dead in the head, there’s a good chance it wouldn’t kill him. For an Autobot, Prime was a head taller than most and only slightly bigger. Even against smaller bots like Frenzy, a shot to the head wasn’t uncommonly deflected, and a single shot would probably not be enough to silence a larger bot such as Optimus. He had to catch Optimus by surprise, if only he was a little closer, perhaps he could leap out and disable his joints with a few blasts to the elbows and shins before he could react. But who was he kidding, he wasn’t the protagonist of an action movie. He was just a robot with a gun. He was just—

Thundercracker lowered his gun.

He didn’t know what he was doing. Thundercracker joined Starscream as a means of making up for where he had failed in letting Prime kill Megatron, and in doing so, make Starscream leader. He didn’t like Starscream. In fact, frag Starscream! But he was the only one who would take him in… and the one most likely to get rid of him once deemed unnecessary. Nobody liked Thundercracker anyway, would killing Megatron’s killer really fix that? Probably not. In fact, until now he had figured it was a self-fulfillment kind of thing, but at this point he doubted his void was ever really going to be filled; nor whether he even had a void to begin with. Then there was Starscream. Would making him leader fix anything? By killing Optimus, and putting Starscream in charge, Thundercracker could potentially cause more harm than good. Thundercracker didn’t know _what_ he was trying to do, or what he wanted to do with himself.

A shot hit Optimus dead-center in the chest, sending him stumbling back and only just catching his balance.

                Thundercracker was so taken aback that he had to say it out loud, as if to convince himself. ‘That wasn’t me.’

Optimus activated his axe and did a somersault across the street, dodging another payload and protecting a group of fleeing civilians from the blast. From the sky, dive-bombed a black and purple jet. Its wings collapsed into itself and its panels shifted into a tin figure that stood at a similar height to Optimus.

It was Slipstream.

The Seeker ripped a pistol from her waist and fired several shots in Prime’s direction. Optimus deflected the shots with his axe which he promptly swung in Slipstream’s direction, slicing through empty air. The Seeker had sidestepped before firing a shot that bounced off Prime’s shoulder. Optimus reacted the best he could and kicked her in the shin before swinging his axe against her weaponized servo and causing her to drop the gun. He raised his axe above his head and prepared to strike, only for Slipstream to lunge at him and grab his wrists. Crushing his servos and holding him back.

                ‘Let’s try to be a little more honest with ourselves here. I’m stronger than you, Optimus, but don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you,’ Slipstream said, her grip tightening.

                ‘I’m sure that’s precisely why you shot me in the chest three seconds before telling me this.’

                ‘Well… I mean, it _was_ a little more than three seconds but…’

                Optimus pushed forward, throwing her off of him before taking another stance. ‘I have no time to exchange “banter” with you, Slipstream. I will not allow you and your Decepticons to endanger this planet—not as long as my spark burns and my cogs—‘

                ‘Oh for the love of—.’ She pulled out a second pistol and fired another shot dead-center in Prime’s chest. Shutting him up and sending him falling on his back. ‘I’m in a very not-pontificating-mood right now, Prime. I’m not feeling the speech at all right now. I was actually looking for someone else, but now that I’ve found you, things have just been made a thousand times easier. Now all I need to do is rip out your spark and brain module and take you back to where you belong.’ She fired another shot into Prime’s chest, shattering the glass armor that covered his spark chamber. ‘The Nemesis and Sunstorm are of no consequence. This is the age of giants, Prime, and Sunstorm is not one of them. I’m not let in on everything my employers are investigating, but from what I’m hearing, the smallest God we’ve discovered —.’ she paused for a moment and raised her servos to articulate what she was trying to say. ‘Okay, so if you took the Hulk… and the Spiderman… and then somehow mutated him together into one entity. The Amazing Incredible Spider Hulk—the smallest giant we’ve uncovered would probably beat him in an arm wrestle. I think his name was Metrotitan.’ She blinked, realizing Optimus was no longer lying where he was. ‘Ah, dammit. I’ve really got to stop bragging about stuff I don’t even know is true.’

Optimus planted his axe in her shoulder from behind before kicking the gun out of her hand and disarming her. She responded with a heavy left hook across Optimus’s face, cracking open his faceplate and knocking him back. Unsheathing a hatchet-like blade from her wrist, Slipstream lunged at the Prime and clashed with his axe.

 _This was perfect._ Or so Thundercracker thought. His two adversaries were trying to kill each other, right in front of him. As it turned out, he didn’t need to lift a finger. From now on, Thundercracker was going to play it like Megatron would have; let his enemies tear each-other apart, then swoop in and deliver the killing blow to the winner once they were out of fuel and nearing stasis lock. He readied his incendiary gun. He was going to end this war, not for Starscream or the Decepticons, but for him.

\-----

Starscream tore through another jet as he chased down Ramjet. Three other Seekers trailed behind him, returning fire. Perhaps it was “mean” to have abandoned Obsidian, but hell, if he couldn’t hold his own then he probably wasn’t worth hiring in the first place.

Ramjet took the lead of the pack, driving Starscream away as he boosted to the trade-building: the highest tower in the district. He transformed and landed on its pavilion, just barely evading the electrical wires that stemmed from its base. Hotlink landed next to him, watching the dogfight that occurred below between Starscream and three of their seekers.

                ‘I’m not so sure about this.’

                ‘You doubt we’ll win?’ Ramjet said, as if it were the most unthinkable thing in the world.

                ‘I’m just saying, Ramjet, Starscream is pretty deadly in the air. His reputation as a predator of the skies precedes him.’

                ‘Then let’s—OH!’ Ramjet grabbed Hotlink by the shoulders. ‘DUDE! I just had a glitchin’ idea!’

                Hotlink slapped Ramjet’s servos. ‘Tell, don’t touch.’

                ‘Okay… so if Starscream is considered the—the butcher of the skies…’

                ‘Predator of the skies.’

                ‘Whatever.’ He pointed at the Seeker in question as he dodged and twirled past Ramjet’s forces. ‘Then why don’t we just take away the skies!’

                Hotlink considered this and grinned. ‘Turns out your head is screwed on better than I would have thought, Ramjet. Brilliant! If you use your null-ray to disable his thrusters, then he will no longer be able to fly.’

                Ramjet frowned. ‘Yeah—wait, no, what are you talking about?’

                ‘Your plan. You mean to ground him in order to remove him as a threat—.’ Hotlink slapped himself in the forehead, shaking his head in understanding. ‘Okay, Ramjet. You weren’t talking about removing the sky, were you?’

                ‘I was talking about removing the sky.’

                ‘You can’t remove the sky, Ramjet.’

                ‘But—.’

                ‘We’re not removing the sky, Ramjet.’

                Ramjet lowered his head, disappointed. ‘Oh.’ He let out a sigh and pressed his focus back on the action. ‘Then I guess we ought to do as you said.’

                ‘By using the—‘

                ‘The null-ray.’ Ramjet activated the weapon and aimed it at Starscream. ‘Yeah.’

The barrel came alight as a thin, pink laser fired, streaming across the airspace and striking Starscream’s right thruster. The pink stream surged through both thrusters until slowly, Starscream descended. The jet pathetically twisted in the air as Ramjet’s soldiers homed in on him.

                ‘Open fire!’ Ramjet said, supplying his own from above. The crack of gunfire echoed the skies as the four seekers unloaded their weapons on the plummeting Starscream. The explosion left cloud of smoke wafting in the air surrounding Starscream’s position, but his figure didn’t fall out of the sky as Ramjet had hoped. Starscream remained intact-but just barely. His servo was punched through the building’s steel alloy leaving him hanging off from the side of the tower. As impressive as it was to see him stomach that first hit back on the Nemesis, the second load was… less so. His body had fragmented and his armour had been cracked open revealing patches of internal circuitry. Smoke bellowed from the cracks between his lips as he tried to re-ignite his thrusters. Sunstorm was right: rep aside, Starscream was still a mortal.

Ramjet didn’t need to lift a digit. The three Seeker jets honed in on Starscream, preparing to unleash a typhoon of laser fire and high-octane. One from above, one from below, and one from the front. Starscream ripped his arm from the building’s infrastructure and let himself fall, landing on top of the nosecone of the Seeker from below and digging his fingers into the jet’s cockpit; ripping out a gob of wires and machinery. The jet sputtered in the air before turning back into the direction of the trade building. Starscream managed to jump off the jet and latch on to the side of the building once again—letting the jet crash into a mess of metal parts and explosive flames. He began climbing, punching a hole through the building, pulling himself up, and repeating the process—terrifying many of its residents in the process. Through the smoke came another jet, firing a missile that Starscream promptly batted aside with the back of his fist. Without much of a plan B, the jet just flew straight for the former Aerospace Commander only for Starscream to punch his free hand through the jet’s undercarriage. He squeezed tightly, activating his buzz saw and dragging it through the Seeker’s length, bisecting it into two large slabs of metal that squirted bright, yellow sparks and green liquid over the disgusted Air Commander. As the last jet approached, Starscream dove off the side of the building once again, letting out a roar and allowing his smile-scars to split, revealing an orange fire burning from his belly. He grappled with the jet, digging his fingers into its alloy skin and forcing the soldier’s nosecone to face the sky.

                ‘Huh.’ Ramjet felt his fists clench, as if on instinct. ‘Hotlink… you may have been right all—.’ But when Ramjet turned to face him, the medic was nowhere to be found, presumably jetting off out of cowardice. When Ramjet turned back, Starscream was hovering above him, having used the seeker’s jet thrusters as a means of elevating him to Ramjet’s level atop of the tower. Ramjet reacted accordingly and fired another blast of null-ray at Starscream, only for the red and white Seeker to throw the remains of Ramjet’s last soldier in the course of the blast and dive for the cone-head himself, hands first. A missile fired from Starscream’s shoulder and blew apart Ramjet’s Null-Ray along with much of his servo. Before Starscream’s feet touched the ground, the Commander entwined his fingers with Ramjet’s, grappling with him in what soon became contest of pure strength. Letting his Decepticon brutality take control, Ramjet stopped thinking and pushed forward, convinced of his might.  Starscream and Ramjet kicked and struggled until their adrenaline had taken over, degrading both parties into a pair of snarling and raging beasts. Just as Starscream’s heel touched the edge of the building, the Commander pulled his arms backwards, first his left, and then his right. With each jerk, Starscream succeeded in ripping Ramjet’s arms out of their sockets and leaving a trail of ooze. First his left, and then his right. Stunned into a daze, the armless Seeker stumbled backwards, optics wide and flickering as oil squirted from the two newly formed cavities on either side of his torso. Starscream whirled Ramjet’s discarded, meaty arms like a pair of clubs before cracking them against the cone-head’s upper torso, sending shivers through his broken frame. Ramjet’s arms shattered as the rest of his body torched and contracted at Starscream’s feet. The battle was won.

Dusting off his hands, Starscream moved passed the broken body and began cutting down electrical wires. Ramjet rolled over, his vision coming back to him. His face had since crumbled, leaving himself an expressionless wreck. His chest expanded as if gasping for air.

                ‘What… are you doing?!’ Ramjet spluttered.

                Starscream began tying the wire around his waist. ‘I’ll be honest… I may be having second thoughts on this.’

                ‘What?’

                Starscream marched over and kicked Ramjet in the ribs. ‘You don’t need arms to transform, do you? If you change into a jet like me, then your arms should form an undercarriage of some kind. You should be able to fly without them. Transform.’

Ramjet, still defiant, remained in his pathetic form on the ground, causing Starscream to punch a hole in the cone-head’s stomach.

                ‘I said, “Transform”, not “pretend to be dead”. I took away your arms, Ramjet, not your ears. I don’t— does “transform” sound anything like “play dead?” Does it?’ He made gestures as he accentuated on either word. ‘Transform… play dead… does that sound anything alike? No? Am I asking for too much here?’

He kicked Ramjet again, and the jet immediately transformed from armless robot into a crumpled jet.

                ‘ _Thank_ you.’ Starscream groaned, tying the other end of the cord around Ramjet.

                ‘What are you doing?’

                ‘Well, since – thanks to you – I can’t fly, I’m using you to get me back to the Nemesis so I can kill Sunstorm.’

                ‘I—I—‘

                ‘Go on. It’s depressing I know, but since the last thing I’m going to do is _ride you_ back, you’re going to have to pull me there. Again, I’m having second thoughts.’

                Ramjet’s thrusters activated as if on their own. His mind an utter mess. He took off, flying off the edge and pulling Starscream along with him. Once in the sky, Starscream felt his stomach lurch as he was dragged from behind, swallowing his discomfort and allowing himself to be pulled through the skies by something outside his own volition. ‘To the Nemesis.’ Starscream said grimly. ‘It’s high time we blocked out the sun.’

 

 


	29. The Nemesis Ascends

Blackarachnia spread her arms aside, blocking the advancing organics. ‘Waitwaitwaitwaitwait just a moment. Hold on, alright?’

The organics stopped and stood, surrounding the two Cybertronians malevolently.

                ‘Okay, so maybe we don’t like each other, but maybe we also got off on the wrong foot.’ Blackarachnia wagered, rubbing her hands together. ‘Maybe we should—you know, reintroduce ourselves. See, my name is Blackarachnia, hi. And the big, crusty fella behind me is Ironhide.’

                ‘Mmf.’

                ‘Hidey, please, you are _so_ crusty. You’re even crustier than a—.’

                ‘For your own sake, do not finish that sentence.’ A tiger-like alien growled, fittingly.

                Blackarachnia quickly bowed her head. ‘My apologies. I was going to say something inappropriate.’ She sighed. ‘But let’s not focus on the noise of this conversation. I think if we take a breather, and calmly talk this out, we can form some real, solid, relationships here.’

                ‘You’re under arrest.’ Said a blue alien that resembled something of a moth-man wearing a fedora.

                Blackarachnia threw her arms in the air, carelessly. ‘Oh yeah? And what are you, a cop?’

                ‘Well, yes.’ The fedora alien replied, revealing his holo-badge.

                Her arms dropped. ‘Oh.’

                ‘It has been Talonian law for years now that in accordance to any unregistered conflict between Cybertronians within civilian area, actions must be taken to restrain and place into custody, any and all Cybertronians until established contact with both Autobot headquarters, and the Vestial Imperium.’

                Blackarachnia groaned. ‘Ugh… the Vestial Imperium.’ She turned to face Ironhide. ‘I _hate_ the Vestial Imperium.’

                The Quintesson levitated over the bar, slithering slowly towards the group. ‘Regardless, you don’t have a say in this matter. We’ve seen it all before, the number of times you and your race have turned face in contrast to when you’ve actually spent facing consequences is unsettlingly high.

                Blackarachnia extended an arm to the Quint, crossly. ‘Oh, come on! We haven’t done anything bad yet!’

                The tiger-like alien raised a brow. ‘Yet?’

                ‘Well…’ she let out an awkward laugh. ‘Well the night is still young! I mean, anything can happen! And after midnight, woo, let me tell ya, if you see any corpses hanging from telephone poles, well, who knows who the culprit might be.’ She snickered, gesturing to herself. She leaned over towards a muscular, bird-like alien and thumbed at her face. ‘Hint, it’s this sexy lady right here.’

The organics – as well as Ironhide - looked past and around her, confused as to who this lady was, she was talking about.

                Blackarachnia slumped over in defeat, barely recovering from the burn. ‘Oh…’

                The Quintesson’s face rotated to a light blue, calmer expression. ‘You are to remain within the vicinity until proper enforcement officers have arrived to take you in for questioning.’

                ‘But I just said—‘

                ‘That you did nothing wrong?’ An ape-like alien rose among the crowd. ‘You literally _just_ robbed us.’

                ‘What?’

                ‘The card game, you stole from us, didn’t you? I don’t have the money I won from the game, so you must have…’ The alien trailed off.

                ‘Who told y—I mean, no! No, why would I… steal from you after losing the same amount of creds?’

                The tiger-alien said: ‘We literally heard you bragging about it right after beating us. The bar is only a foot away from the gambling table.’

                ‘Oh.’

                ‘Why would you steal the same amount you bet?’ the ape-alien wondered.

                ‘I don’t—‘

                ‘I mean, who does that? Why not just steal from us before making a bet?’

                ‘She was also totally just about to leave without paying for her drinks.’ The Quintesson added.

Blackarachnia wrapped her clawed servos across her optics. ‘Look, I—I am not always in the right mind, I’ve been… unwell.’

                Ironhide laughed at this statement, prompting a quick jab to the rib by Blackarachnia. ‘You shut your mouth, crusty crab.’

                The muscular bird alien squawked: ‘If you ask me, you sound like you’ve got egg on your face- SQUAAAAAAAWWWKK!’

                The tiger-alien stared at the muscular bird nauseously. ‘Dude… don’t you _lay_ eggs?’

                The fedora’d alien nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, I’ve got to agree, that’s a pretty nasty expression coming from you. Eggs are like—ovaries for you guys.’

The bird-alien shrugged, playfully. ‘Well you know what to say, there’s more than one way to cook an omelette. CRAAWWWW!’

                The surrounding aliens made a variety of “eww” noises.

                ‘Oh God.’ Blackarachnia sighed. ‘Its things like these that keep me convinced that the Decepticons are meant to conquer the galaxy.’

                Ironhide let out a shocked grunt through the mints still packed in his cheeks.

                Blackarachnia raised a brow. ‘What? I know I’m not a Decepticon anymore, but you can’t look me in the eye and tell me these life-forms are well off.’

                ‘The only reason we’re not all “well off” is because of your war!’ The Quintesson said. ‘Do you think we _want_ to be ruled by your group of death-machines?

                ‘Well, why do you think we’re fighting?’ Blackarachnia was losing her temper, how Ironhide was staying quiet, she couldn’t figure out. ‘The point is for one of us to win and _end_ the conflict. If not the Decepticons, then the Autobots, they may not do anything to help, but if you want to stay in rubble then why not accept the people we’re allied with? You organics are always grouping the entire Cybertronian race together like we’ve not been split into all these factions for a reason.’

                ‘Because none of your factions are any better, and what’s worse is you think they _are_.’ The Quintesson’s face rotated to a darker red. ‘The Autobots fight in the name of freedom, but what they want is order. No matter how often Magnus says the Autobots have moved on from the days of functionism, those practises and lessons still remain tucked beneath the skin of the Autobot taxonomy. Decepticons threaten us to bow to them, and if we don’t, they try and destroy us. Okay. And the Autobots work on protecting us, alright, I can respect that. But how many times do you pack up and leave once the threat is over? You rarely pick up after yourselves, leaving the so-called “lesser beings” of the galaxy to clean the up after you. And when you _do_ stay, you tear up massive pieces of land without our permission, disobey dozens of trust-policy, and privacy laws with your disguises, use up our resources for your own benefit, and build massive cities, outposts, and space-stations looming over civilian populaces with a laser pointing _down._ Again, without the permission of anyone.’

                ‘Look, I absolutely agree that the Autobot manifesto is darker and far more pretentious than anyone lets on—but even _I_ can understand that they do it for the sake of your safety—to control sectors of the galaxy before the Decepticons do. I don’t agree with it, but what do you expect them to do? _Not_ defend you?’

                ‘I expect them _not_ to draw targets on our backs.’ The Quintesson’s face rotated into a new form. ‘It is your war. By using our worlds, you have only created more problems for us. Both of you are destroying the galaxy, both physically, and structurally. You act like defending us is _noble,_ but if not all, most of you wouldn’t even flinch if you stepped on one of us during a conflict. You don’t care about the rest of the galaxy, you just can’t accept the fact that what you’ve been doing for the past millions of years is _wrong._ You can’t accept that your race is no longer the shining-evolutionary-miracle you used to be. Your races’ propaganda has – literally – been programmed so well into your overly-complicated neuro-circuits for you to even notice. The Transformers are _machines_ , pure and simple.’

Blackarachnia was silent. And the rest of the organics were forced to nod in unison, generally agreeing.

                ‘Can I just ask a question?’ Blackarachnia said, hoarsely.

                ‘You may.’

                ‘What’s a Transformer?’

The organics couldn’t wrap their heads around it. ‘What do you mean?’

Ironhide muffled something to Blackarachnia.

                ‘Oh.’

                ‘What’d he say?’

                Ironhide spat out the mints and cleared his throat. ‘I said it was a pet-name you lot gave us. Because of how we, you know.’

Ironhide transformed into his heavy-artillery mode, aiming his cannons upward and firing a massive burst of energy into the sky, creating a display that was not unlike a fire-work performance, drops of fire rained down, and while it wasn’t lethal, or even all that painful, it caused the organics to scatter into a frenzy of panic. Organics of all sizes freaked out, scurrying around in panic, activating their smaller weaponry, or even just standing paralyzed in the face of Cybertronian fire-power.

                The Quintesson’s tentacles waved in the air, trying to calm them down. ‘Stay strong, friends, we will not falter to _two_ Transformers. United we stand!’ His face flipped around once again, changing back to a crimson scowl. ‘Besides, we have full authority to dismantle them now!’

                Ironhide transformed, pressing his back against Blackarachnia’s.

                The former Decepticon grinned chillingly as her stalks emerged from her spine and curved over their heads. ‘I’m glad you came to your senses.’ She mused in morbid excitement. ‘I had a feeling those covers wouldn’t be able to muffle your cannons for long. Let’s kill them. Let’s—we’re going to paint these walls red with these bastard’s visceral fluids, and sweet—sweet muscle tissues. Oh God, we are going to tear through their soft bodies so _easily_.’

                ‘We’re not killing them.’ Ironhide said, quietly.

                Blackarachnia looked at him; her mouth semi agape. Truthfully, she wasn’t all that surprised. ‘You heard what they said. I know you’re as trigger-happy as I am, Hidey. So admit it, you want to tear these animals apart for what they said just as much as I do.’

                Ironhide cocked a brow. ‘This isn’t a matter of admitting the truth, Decepticon. If you want the truth, I am fuming mad, and when that happens, I am fully content with - and capable of – killing whoever I deem necessary.’ He shut off his cannons. ‘But I respect Optimus too much for that.’ He pointed to the exit, which was in fact, still guarded by the two bouncers, trying to calm the outrage. ‘We need to get out of here and get to Optimus as soon as possible, and if we need to fight our way out—‘

                ‘Then we have an excuse to hit these guys.’ Blackarachnia finished.

                Ironhide lifted a strict servo to the Decepticon. ‘Yes, but _only_ hitting. Just enough to knock them out.’ The organics began to come together, surrounding the two like a ring of fire. ‘If you kill _anyone,_ and if I see _anyone_ die, Optimus will know, and we _will_ leave this place without you.’

                Blackarachnia sighed. ‘I know. And I know you will.’ She prepared her stance as the bird-alien dashed at her for the attack. She threw a punch, cracking the organic’s head to the side and sending cracks through its beak.

                ‘Glad that’s settled.’ Ironhide readied his fists. ‘Now as for the rest of you. We are both feeling very violent right now, not because we’ve been drinking for the past hour, not because our planet is a barren husk, not because we’re two of the three most wanted Cybertronians in the galaxy, and not because we have to learn to work together without Optimus keeping us in check for once, but because of one, pure and simple reason.’ He slammed his fists together, and a loud “wham” noise echoed through the room as metal collided with metal in the palm of his hand. ‘You pissed us off.’

\-----

                ‘I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.’ Ramjet droned on, he was broken in both mind and spirit and running on fumes as he carried Starscream through the sky. ‘I just—I sided with Sunstorm because he told me I would get to fight. He didn’t say they wouldn’t be Autobots.’

                ‘Shut up.’ Starscream said, hands clasped together tightly.

But Ramjet wouldn’t. His mind was lost in transmission. He kept talking, because as far as he knew, that was what would keep him alive. _Oh wait_ , he thought: ‘I’m not going to be alive for much longer, y’know.’

                ‘I don’t care. Fly.’

                ‘I mean I’m dying. I have only so much time left to live.’

                ‘If you don’t keep flying, I’ll kill you.’

                ‘The reason I joined Sunstorm was because of something Hotlink told me. He said I only had about a day to live.’

                ‘He was lying.’

                ‘It’s sad, I know, but apparently I brought it upon myself. I’d regret it, but nothing is going to keep me from—.’ Ramjet stopped. Starscream didn’t take note of this, but Ramjet had to be certain. ‘What did you say?’

                ‘I said he was lying.’

                Ramjet’s voice turned to panic. ‘I—um, do you want to clarify?’

                ‘No.’

                ‘I’m not asking—please, Starscream, tell me what you mean.’

                ‘I mean Hotlink lied about your illness. He was one of Sunstorm’s supporters before you, wasn’t he?’

                ‘I thought—.’

                ‘Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what you think. To _clarify,_ Sunstorm had Hotlink give you a due-date so he could manipulate you into doing something drastic. In this case, joining with him so that Slipstream had no big-named support. Believe me, I know a manipulator when I see one.’

                ‘So I’m not going to…’ Ramjet felt somehow relieved. ‘I’m not going to die…?’ Ramjet laughed, his cracked vocal processor fizzing and bubbling as he did so. ‘It all makes sense! I’m not going to die!’

                ‘Oh, you’re still going to die.’

                ‘Hah! That’s why you’re keeping me alive! You’ve only got three soldiers under your command. It’s why you’re getting to know me, too! You’re going to let me join your brigade and everything! Right?’

                ‘No.’

Ramjet kept laughing. He kept laughing all the way to the Nemesis.

\-----

Obsidian was bleeding and broken. Energon pouring from his pours, and his body mangled to the point of only barely holding together.

                ‘Damn you, Starscream.’ He muttered quietly.

The moment his commander had left, everything had gone out of control. Sunstorm and his squad had decimated him. Their combined firepower shot him out of the sky, and once grounded, the group piled on him— assaulting and flaying him like their own personal sandbag. The fact he was alive was a miracle. Sunstorm was apparently willing to let his men have their fun with blitzing and torturing him for their own amusement, as he was sure they could have killed him by now had they focused a shot to his head, but then, he could never tell how smart the average Decepticon soldier was. He managed to get away, scathed, but not dead. Firing a missile into one of their pig-nosed faces gave him the time he needed to activate his rotors and drag himself off the side of the Nemesis. He was hiding now— latched onto the tip of the Nemesis’ upper canopy with his drenched stomach cavity facing the city below. The Seekers were still circling the Nemesis, scouring the skies for him, none apparently smart enough to look literally under the ship’s nose. Obsidian panted as Sunstorm walked overhead, his footsteps varying in volume.

                ‘I gave you one order— kill a _single_ defector, and you’re telling me you “lost him”?!’ Sunstorm was clutching a soldier by the throat. His screams elevating as his throat melted in the Seeker’s grip. ‘He is a _helicopter_ for Primacron’s sake! I don’t care how great a strategist he is, he cann _ot_ just disappear in thin air.’ The screaming Seeker’s voice curdled and died as the connecting tissue between his head and his torso gave-way, causing his skull to roll off Sunstorm’s fist and drop against the ground. The Nemesis’ commander marched over to the tip of the Nemesis, standing directly above Obsidian. ‘He can’t be hiding far. _Find_ him.’

As the other soldiers quickly got back to work, Obsidian felt his grip against the Nemesis weaken. To his horror, a loud scratching noise sounded in his periphery, he could hear it, and Sunstorm could hear it too. It was his rotor, it had been scraping against the ship’s hull and creating a grating noise.

Sunstorm paused, and turned his head towards the sound, prompting an inquiry from Bitstream.

                ‘Is everything alright, my lord?

                ‘Yes I… hm.’ Sunstorm took a step towards the tip of the ship, then another, advancing on the noise. Obsidian cursed to himself and his spark burned. It was as if time was slowing all around him.

Sunstorm looked lost, almost concerned by the sound as he approached it. He knelt on one knee, running a digit across the ship’s hull and carving a small trail in the shape of a winding worm. He hummed and lowered himself closer, pressing his audio receptor against the ship’s cold exterior, listening to the quiet buzz of Obsidian’s rotor right beneath him.

Obsidian shut his optics, breathing heavily. This was it, he’d have to make his stand.

                ‘Sunstorm!’ Bitstream suddenly blurted. ‘I just got a call from Braketaker in the lower levels, well, I got a scream. He’s dead now. It seems Strika has infiltrated the ship somehow. She and Acid Storm’s group have been on the warpath through the ships interior—they’ll be here any minute!’

Sunstorm rose to his feet. ‘As I expected. We still have over two-dozen Seeker’s left, _here_.’ He stepped away from the sound and moved towards his lieutenant. ‘Rally them, and tell them to prepare for battle.’ He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘We outnumber them two to one—this battle will be over before long.’

Obsidian let out a quiet sigh as Sunstorm’s footsteps grew softer. Thank God he had Strika.

                ‘Oh.’ Sunstorm said to himself, stopping mid-way. ‘I almost forgot.’ The golden Seeker turned around and sprinted back towards the tip of the ship, kneeling above the sound once again. He raised his fist above his head, gathering energy, until a ball of flames formed around his wrist. He struck the ship, punching through the canopy’s metal and cleaving away to the noise beneath. In one motion, Sunstorm clenched Obsidian’s throat and wrenched him out through the burning platform, hanging him high above his head.

Obsidian let out a pained scream as Sunstorm’s pyro-kinetic touch burned through his outer armour.

                ‘You didn’t think you could hide from me, did you?’ Sunstorm exchanged hands, grabbing the strategist by forehead; singing his face and stinging his optics. Obsidian tried to wrestle the Seeker by the wrists, but all it did was burn the skin off his fingers. ‘You thought I wouldn’t notice you from a foot away? Pathetic.’ He held him up high so the others could see. ‘Look! I found him, now that didn’t take long at all, did it?’ He pulled the suffering wreck to his face so he could see him eye-to-eye. ‘Poor Obsidian… I had such high hopes for you. You were such a loyal follower of Megatron. He _trusted_ you. And yet here you stand… so to speak. Why, Obsidian? Before I crush the brain-module responsible for so many decisive victories, entertain me—why did you side with Starscream?’

                Obsidian managed to voice his thoughts. ‘I… need him.’

                ‘Oh!’ Sunstorm pressed his servo to his chest. ‘Well isn’t that sweet.’

                ‘You… idiot.’ Obsidian coughed up a wad of oil, which was almost immediately set aflame as the wires connecting his throat began to curl into singed metal like peeling wallpaper. ‘I… need him… for… my own…’ he coughed again.

                ‘For your own plans. Your machinations. Your ideas. Yes, that is why you’re going to die here, Obsidian. We aren’t meant to think for ourselves. All of you, coming up with your own ideas—you are treading ground we were never meant to. Our sole purpose isn’t to come up with ideas, it is to serve God.’ He pressed a digit against the center of his forehead in frustration. Burning a small hole in the process. ‘All of you… why can’t you understand… I just—why can you never…’

                ‘Obsidian!’

                Strika stood outside the elevator—a dozen allied seeker’s standing behind her. Sunstorm’s own men dropped from the sky, standing alongside him with their guns cocked and glowing.

                ‘Ah, I’m glad you’re here, Strika. Surely you will understand.’

                Strika’s shoulder cannons were trained on Sunstorm, her optics searing red. ‘You put him down.’

                ‘Hah, nice one. That’s a very funny “joke”, Strika. But no, I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill Obsidian for what he’s done.’

He chuckled, switching hands, and digging his fingers deeper into his skull.

                Strika clenched her fists, her breath turning violent at she glared at the Nemesis’ commander. ‘I’m going to kill you.’

                ‘I don’t think so, but how about this: let’s not kill each-other! As in: neither of us dies here.’ He gestured to Obsidian. ‘Look, I am killing Obsidian right in front of you— I’ve already started, if you can’t already tell. I am currently melting his skull until my pyro-kinetic servo finally reaches his brain module. I’m giving him a slow-death so that he can pay for his sins. But it doesn’t have to be this way. I know you two are close, join me, and I’ll let you kill him. You can end his suffering right now before the real pain starts, all you need to do is succeed where he has failed, and join my guiding hand.’

                Strika didn’t react. Sunstorm expected a look of sadness, pain or fear from the giant upon watching her consort die before her—regret, or even love. But all he saw from Strika was a look of unadulterated rage. She was going to kill him, even if it resulted in Obsidian dying in the process.

                Sunstorm sighed. ‘Very well, in this case you could at least admit your loss, Ramjet has no doubt disposed of Starscream by now, and Obsidian is already too far gone. If you won’t give up, then I guess I have no choice but to—.’ He dropped Obsidian against the ground, staring forward at the approaching object that dotted the sky. ‘What the hell is that.’

\---

Ramjet jetted towards the Nemesis, his crumpled body in full view to Sunstorm and his followers. ‘Starscream! You know how you said I didn’t need arms to become a jet? Well—um, I do. My landing gear is actually connected to my elbow… which you left back at the— you know.’

                ‘Oh.’

                ‘Well—I can’t land!’

                ‘Land.’

                ‘I can’t!’

                ‘Ramjet.’

                ‘Yes…?’

                ‘You can fly at the Nemesis, yes?’

                ‘Yeah, but—!’

                ‘You can fly onto the hull with the others, yes?’

                ‘I can but—I’d crash!’

                ‘So?’

                ‘—and there’s no room! The hull is covered in other Cybertronians! _’_

‘It doesn’t matter. Land.’

                ‘But I’ll crash into them! Some of them are on your side!’

                ‘So?’

Ramjet understood. He activated his boosters and jetted at the Nemesis, nose-cone first. Ramjet lived up to his name for one last time…

\----

The blast was huge. Ramjet’s body exploded as he “rammed” into the battlefield, engulfing soldiers from both sides and plunging the Nemesis into a warzone once again. He had indeed, succeeded in killing a great number of people as he hoped. Starscream had long since detached himself from the Seeker and landed firmly in the middle of the battle. Strika supplied fire from behind him at Sunstorm and his crew as Obsidian crawled to the side-lines, free of danger. Starscream walked forward, one of Sunstorm’s men jumped at him, only to be carelessly grabbed by the throat, and throttled mercilessly by the Aerospace Commander’s bloodied fists. He continued this until his arm had pierced clean through the soldier’s skull. A second seeker jumped at him, and Starscream grabbed them by the head, jerking his elbow backwards and ripping it clean off his shoulders before chucking it at another Seeker that charged him. He activated chest compartment and fired a barrage of missiles that would seek-out several of Sunstorm’s—and even his own – soldiers and explode on impact. Those that attempted to fire on Starscream afar were met with the bulk of Strika, who proceeded to karate-chop one grunt in half from head to crotch with one arm and strike her fist through a seeker’s torso with the other— ripping their chest out in a trail of multi-coloured wires.

                Sunstorm remained steadfast, unloading a barrage of flames; feeding the explosion and turning the sky orange. ‘This is where you die, Starscream. You will not threaten my ascension!’

His flames flowered until a whirlpool of red and yellow circled around him—blinding everything it touched. Strika was sent tumbling backwards as Obsidian transformed with what energy he had and evaded the attack. From the flames, the figure of Starscream stood, stomaching the burns and stepping through, his optics burning with a deeper intensity than Sunstorm’s flames ever could. The fire reflected off the red seeker’s plating, cascading with shades of crimson and gold. It looked as though he were bathing in the flames. He stepped forward and raised his servos. Before Sunstorm knew it, the two seekers clashed—their hands intertwined in combat. Despite this, Starscream felt no burns. Sunstorm escalated his power, only for Starscream to kick the golden seeker in the shin, turning him vulnerable and off-balance. Starscream proceeded to use his fists, beating down the “chosen one” with a blazing ferocity combined with a somber disposition Sunstorm had never seen from him before.

Sunstorm coughed and drooled as Starscream kicked him in the gut. The gold seeker transformed, searing through the sky and returning to deal a volley of missile-fire that torched Starscream’s torso. Starscream responded with another barrage of missile-fire that blew Sunstorm out of the sky, forcing him to transform once again, and land on his pedes. The “chosen-one” slashed and clawed at Starscream, only to feel a sharp pain in his back. It was Obsidian, he was hovering in helicopter mode with laser’s smoking; still in the fight. Sunstorm growled as he threw a punch that was promptly blocked by Starscream’s arm. The Aerospace commander proceeded to return the favour and smashed his fist against Sunstorm’s face, sending him flying to the tip of the Nemesis. Sunstorm lifted himself up; his face a train of emotion from confusion, to fear, and ultimately, to understanding. He leapt off the side of the ship, transforming once again and unleashed his flames at the Nemesis’ outer shell, forming a small hole that melted before him. Before Starscream could supply any firepower, Sunstorm had already accelerated into the ship.

                ‘What the hell is he doing?!’ Starscream demanded. The battlefield was strewn with bodies, and very few Seekers remained. All that appeared to be left were Obsidian, Strika, Acid Storm and under half of his initial group. The Nemesis began to quake as vibrations ran through the ship and up the Decepticons legs.

                ‘He’s trying to escape!’ Obsidian roared, hovering next to Starscream. ‘These vibrations—he’s set the Nemesis to warp!’

                ‘Dammit.’ Starscream pointed to his back. ‘Obsidian, fix my thrusters—quickly.’ As Obsidian got to work recharging his thruster’s, Starscream gave out his orders. ‘If we stay here as it warps—we’re going to die. Strika, go and find Thundercracker and tell him to get his aft here immediately. Acid Storm I… don’t really care about you, so just go away if you don’t want to die.’

Obsidian finished and hovered away from the Nemesis as the vibrations increased. Strika merely jumped off the edge of the ship and landed on a roof-top below while Starscream and the others transformed. With no-one left on top of the ship, the Nemesis’s quantum engines activated, and the ship was slingshot into the sky.

Starscream and Obsidian hovered side-by-side in the empty air as they watched the Nemesis leave the atmosphere.

                ‘We failed.’ Obsidian said, turning to face Starscream. ‘I don’t suppose you have a backup plan.’

                But Starscream didn’t reply. He activated his newly-repaired thrusters and shot himself into the opposite direction of the Nemesis, flying out into the Talonian wilderness, and away from the city’s center.

Obsidian sighed, slowly descending as his internal repairs activated.


	30. Doused

        Slipstream parried a blow, spinning and lashing her blade through Prime’s rib. Rupturing the sealant tubes and wiring, and causing the gash to gush with bubbling Energon. Optimus grabbed the wound with one hand, and deflected an attack with the other. With the Nemesis out of the way and out of sight, Slipstream had the opportunity to toy with the Prime until that exact, succulent moment he would collapse. She swept her foot at his ankles, and tripping him flat on his back. Before he could rise, Slipstream delivered a second kick and pressed her heel against the wound.

        ‘I can’t say I’m impressed,’ she said in a reluctant tone. ‘In fact I was expecting something more, to be honest.’

        Optimus struggled to stand, but was still far from disarmed. He struck the blunt of his axe at the Seeker—twisting her leg and enforcing her to retreat into jet-form. The Prime’s body swayed as he gathered to his feet. ‘If you were expecting some warrior-legend capable of taking on Megatrons left and right, then I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I just happen to be simultaneously both the luckiest, and unluckiest Autobot in the world.’

        Slipstream made a U-turn and dived at the Prime, Transforming and retracting two blades in which she pointed at his skull. Optimus swung his axe in a semi-circle as he took a stance. ‘And if you think that means I’m ready to die, then you have a hell of a lot more disappointment coming your way.’

Their weapons clashed once more, and Optimus wondered to himself whether Ironhide and Blackarachnia were faring as well as he was. Whatever they were doing.

\-----

Panic filled the room as organics bustled in and out of the bar. Wrestling with the Cybertronians one at a time. Even as the panic of the mysterious warship had stilled, the ground was still in an uproar, and unfortunately, it would not quell soon.

Ironhide cracked his fist against an organic’s head and knocking them unconscious onto the ground. He whirled around and locked optics with the Quintesson who owned the bar. The squid fired a barrage of bullets from each of the large cylindrical barrels located at the tips of his many tentacles. The pistols let out loud consecutive bangs as they unloaded their clips into Ironhide’s thick frame.

It only pissed him off.

Ironhide took a wide leap forward, grabbing the Quintesson by the throat—or rather, the area beneath its face, and dragged him to the ground. The Quints face rotated as Ironhide let out a rapid, and continuous wallop with both of his fists, sending the multi-faced creature literally spinning through a series of emotions.

        ‘Why – how – who –are –you - ?’

Ironhide leaned back, glaring at the Quintesson from above. He spoke in a low, gravelly voice, in part, due to the dryness of his mouth after trying to swallow all of those mints, combined with the ones still locked in his throat.  ‘ _I’m Batman.’_

He delivered a final punch, knocking the Quintesson unconscious. He stood up, and aimed his cannons to the sky and fired a round of loud ammunition that caused the rest to scatter off in different directions, but not before tripping and bumping into each other like a pack of gerbils. Ironhide whirled his head around to face Blackarachnia, only to find she was no longer present within the bar’s crumbling walls. Ironhide tip-toed over the passed out guards and out the exit. In the middle of the street was a dog-pile of organics. Standing on top of the pile was Blackarachnia, covered in sweat and mucus, and holding a prune skinned creature by its throat and above her head. The alien screamed and cried as the Decepticon’s grip tightened. Her optics were blazing with green energy as she squeezed down.

        ‘You’re all the same.’ Blackarachnia said, gesturing to the surrounding civilians. ‘You all think you’re the center of the universe... and maybe you’re right. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter _where_ you are in the universe.’ She watched as the alien’s face distorted in pain before turning to her audience and raising her extended stalks. ‘Because this universe belongs to the Transformers!’

        ‘Blackarachnia!’ Ironhide shouted. ‘We’ve won! Okay? Now let the alien go before you do something we’ll both regret.’

        But Blackarachnia wouldn’t listen. Or, she _was_ listening, she just didn’t want to hear it. ‘I haven’t killed a single thing since I started putting up with the two of you.’ She dropped the pruned alien. ‘Do you know how… how _frustrating_ that is for me?’

        Ironhide was prepared to berate her once again on her violent ways. But this time was different. It took him long, but it was now he had come to realize something about their Decepticon occupant. Blackarachnia was sick. ‘Listen to me very carefully. You’re getting out of control. You know the repercussions of disobeying Prime’s orders, and I know you’re smart enough to have obeyed them so far.’

        The adrenaline from the fight had taken over ‘I was programmed to _kill_ , Ironhide. I don’t think you know the concept of a mass-produced soldier, but regardless of my personality program, I was still born with a singular goal-set.’ She jabbed an accusing servo at the large Autobot. ‘Don’t tell me you’re any different. You’ve kept no secret about how much you love to fight.’

        Ironhide let out a breath before taking a step forward. ‘I do. I’ve loved to fight because fighting is all I can do. I’m good at it. But I know we’re more complex than that. I know _you_ are more complex than that. We can’t always do what we love, because sometimes—most of the time, what we love kills us.’

        ‘You’d rather have me live in boredom and depression than die doing something I love?’

        ‘I’d rather see you grow up.’

        Blackarachnia stared at the weapons specialist through her four optics. Her arms dropped to her sides and her leg-stalks retracted into her body. She edged down the pile of unconscious bodies and approached Ironhide. Her optics peered off into different directions. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t you kill? We’re war-machines, both of us. You’d fit right in with the rest of the Decepticons, so why do you hold back?’

        Ironhide lowered his optics and cocked his head to the side. ‘Because I’m an Autobot. And no matter how often I hate the Decepticons—and hate you. I love this galaxy, and I love people—and I won’t stop loving its people.’ Ironhide unhooked a portion of his chest, revealing an obscured Autobot symbol. He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘That’s why I’m an Autobot.’

Blackarachnia nodded slightly, and allowed a smile to crack across her lips. The smile grew until she came out laughing.

        ‘What?’

        ‘Do you even—do you even know how big of a loser you are? I don’t think anyone in the history of ever, speaks the way you do, Ironhide.’

        Ironhide groaned and rolled his optics away from Blackarachnia and into the direction of the Ark. ‘Whatever… Damn Decepticon. I try to keep you from killing people and you start having a laugh… I never get any respect around here.’ He pointed a digit in the direction of the parking lot. ‘Now let’s move, we should have an easier time finding Optimus with—.’

A blast of flames erupted from Ironhide’s back. ‘What?!’ Ironhide swung himself around, first to Blackarachnia, who was facing the other direction with her weaponized stalks unfurled, and them to the group of robots approaching them from across the street.

        They were plain in design, but could have easily passed off for Cybertronians if not for the fact that they lacked faces. They didn’t possess visors or faceplates, or even suffered for empurata. They were just rows of blank, canvases plastered on cream coloured bodies. ‘YOU ARE UNDER ARREST.’ The robots chanted in unison. One of their arms transformed into a large, electric rifle and fired a shot that struck one of Blackarachnia’s stalks, burning through and causing it to disintegrate. Both Ironhide and Blackarachnia dove out of the way and behind a pillar of rubble for cover.

        ‘Your leg!’ Ironhide exclaimed.

        ‘It’s alright, it’ll grow back.’

        ‘I don’t care about that!’ He pointed at the marching robots as they approached—increasing their firepower. ‘It tore through you like it was nothing. Not even _my_ weaponry can do that!’

        Blackarachnia blinked at him. ‘You’re saying they’re carrying weaponry more advanced than Cybertronian tech? That someone’s literally created technology greater than naturally evolved machine-life?!’

        Ironhide shook his head. ‘I don’t—‘

        ‘Ironhide. Did the Quintessons break the Machina principle? Did the Quintessons finally succeed in breaching the Evo-Peak?!’

        Ironhide batted an irritated servo at her. ‘Geez! Calm down! We’ve only spent thirty seconds with these guys,’ he sighed. ‘We need to think of a plan, you and me.’

        Blackarachnia took a quick peep over the rubble before ducking her head, and just dodging another shot. ‘Okay, I’m stumped. You’re the combat vet, does this remind you of anything?’

        Ironhide scratched his head. ‘I just—I never knew the Quintessons had come this far. Dammit, this would be so much easier if you could transform, but…’

        Blackarachnia blinked. ‘I can transform. Since when couldn’t I transform?’

        Ironhide raised a confused brow. ‘Wh— couldn’t you—don’t you have energy problems or…?’

        ‘Yeah, when I transform, the mass displacement sucks out most of my energy. But that’s after I _do_ transform. Otherwise—I can transform whenever I want.’

        Ironhide grabbed her by the top of her head and squeezed down. ‘Then why the hell haven’t you transformed yet?!’

        ‘Okay! Okay! Jeez…! Just give me some room.’ Blackarachnia jumped into the open and activated her set of mental commands before shifting and transforming into a larger, multi-limbed creature. The monster slithered forward and raised its legs above the law-enforcement officers and raised her stalks above her head. Before they could fire, she swiped at their throats, decapitating them, one after another.

        Ironhide ran up and leaped on Blackarachnia’s back. ‘Charge!’

        Blackarachnia let out a screech and skittered forward, smashing through the barricade of robots and en-route to the Ark.

\-----

        Servos merged with the controls; Sunstorm pulled back as the universe vibrated and warped around him. Space expanded and shifted as if dark panels were lifting and receding around the ship’s reformatting hull. The energy erupting from the warp engines settled in short bursts before finally falling into a rechargeable state. The Nemesis slowed to a stop as it found its position in empty space, away from any kind of conflict it had sustained before.

        Sunstorm fell back into the command chair—his face buried in his hands. This was not how things were supposed to happen. He was not supposed to lose. It wasn’t as though he had been planning it all in advance, nor had he been waiting in patience for his time to come. But it still hurt. He had trusted on his instincts the moment the opportunity made itself available. Was that why he…? He raised his face out of his cupped servos – optics bloody and loose. Sunstorm wasn’t going to admit his defeat. Was he still running away? Yes. Oh, hell yes. Was he going to continue his voyage? Sunstorm still believed his destiny, regardless of whether he wanted to believe it anymore. He said it before, and he said it enough: this was not out of vanity. He didn’t want the honour of being the chosen one for the sake of glory. He truly believed that. He truly didn’t want to be the great hero he had made himself to be. He never did. What he did was for the good of everyone, and he knew he had to make the sacrifice for it. Regardless of his personal opinions.

        ‘But why?!’ He spat. ‘If I was meant to succeed, then how did this even happen? Did I miscalculate some fatal misstep? Did I fail to take into account the incompetence of the Decepticons’ aerospace legion?!’ He raised his servos above his head, his backside lowering into his chair as his vocalizer cried out in premature wales. ‘IS THIS HOW MY GOD REWARDS ME FOR ALL I’VE DONE?!’

He panted wildly— digging his fingers into the arms of his chair until the shook with pentad aggression. His fingertips burned out an inch before tiring and falling limp.

‘No.’ He said aloud. It was all a test. Another trial to show him the challenges he was supposed to face. Surely. Primus wasn’t going to throw him away that easily, and if he had to start over, then so be it. He relaxed, setting co-ordinates back to Theopany for reinforcements.

He began to take a look at the positives. For one, he had a perfect grasp of what his challenger was like. Secondly, he had the most powerful warship in the Decepticon armada under his control, which was a plus. And thirdly – because he was so proud, he had to say it out loud—

         ‘I still function.’

        ‘Wanna bet?’ Starscream said.

Sunstorm’s body went cold.

Seconds passed as the extra presence loomed over him like an embodiment of death. Sunstorm’s optics stared forward, inching only to catch a glimpse of the face reflecting in the monitor. It was Ramjet’s—but no. It wasn’t Ramjet’s—not the way he knew of it. It was twisted and mangled and burnt. It didn’t look like Ramjet—it didn’t look like Ramjet at all!

Sunstorm dashed from his chair and faced the presence, only for a massive weight to crash into him. It felt wet, but warm. The body pushed him into the control console, sprinkling sparks up his arm and into the pulsing weight of metal. Sunstorm lifted the metal slab to find himself face-to-face with Ramjet’s open stare. The cone-head was dead. Sunstorm screamed, pushing the dead slab onto the ground and kicking it aside. He reached up and grabbed his face. Panic running through him as he felt the Energon running down his face. It was his own. His head had crashed against the main-monitor, and a large shard of glass had pierced through his right optic—its tip only inches away from his brain. The pain began to overcome him as he tried to think of a possible reason as to what Ramjet’s corpse was doing in his presence. Then he turned around.

Starscream stood watching him through cat-like optics. His hands clasped behind his back patiently as Sunstorm watched in silence. Beside him stood a second presence. A darker robot, who appeared to be kneeling with difficulty.

        ‘HOW?!’ Sunstorm screamed, grappling with the wound.

        ‘Oh, it wasn’t so hard.’ Starscream said, smugly. ‘Here, let me introduce you.’ He gestured to the kneeling robot. ‘This is Skywarp.’

        Skywarp waved, smiling weakly. ‘What’s up? You’re dead.’

        ‘What?!’

        ‘You know how you said you still function? Well…’ Starscream made a jazzy gesture with his servos. ‘Surpriiiiise! Not for long.’ The two chuckled until Starscream suddenly cleared his throat. ‘But seriously, you’re going to die.’

Sunstorm looked on, still unable to comprehend what was happening. He began chanting in order to calm himself down. ‘Rock wool… Concrete… Brick… Nomex… Twaron… Glass.’

        ‘Well, anyway. My science officer – Thundercracker – he has been doing some research in the occult. Specifically, Skywarp’s curious ability to teleport vast distances.’

        Skywarp coughed in agreement. ‘I’m a special snowflake that deserves to be treasured.’

        ‘You can—?’ Sunstorm’s face drained of its usual charisma. He suddenly felt a lot less uniquel in the universe.

        Starscream folded his hands prestigiously as he concluded his explanation. ‘I had Skywarp teleport us into the Nemesis just before you exited the atmosphere. Now I’m afraid you’re trapped in here with us – and more importantly – me.’

        Sunstorm shook his head as the Aerospace Commander approached. ‘But I—Everything I’ve done until—why would he…’

Starscream activated his buzz-saw and let it shred through empty air.

        ‘No!’ Sunstorm cried out, backing into the console once more. His flames were no more. ‘It has been said in the Primal Pentateuch! It’s been prophesized since the beginning! Thirtieth verse in the first-church’s text: “(Æon file://tpr->x\\\\`**w.r.w.r.>>.x*src.x, t->x.y*src>>.x, t->x.—”’

        ‘“—Fldppl+dxcet primus t32098r [ett+01] ;starts & [ends1] on cycle (8) 0.”’ Starscream finished.

Sunstorm was taken aback.

‘That the chosen one would bathe in flames—and lead the Cybertronians towards the coming of the Neogens, and Shokaract, and the second coming of Unicron.’ Starscream laughed as Sunstorm’s jaw dropped in morbid disbelief. ‘Yes, I read the Primal Pentateuch. You aren’t the only reader around here, Sunstorm. I know the books of Primus like the back of my hand.’

        ‘Geeks.’ Skywarp snickered.

        ‘Shut up,’ Starscream advanced. ‘But when you get to know something as well as I do, you come to realize that nothing should be taken at face value. There are always… layers. Writings – like people – are always going through revisions—changing the way they are in order to match what societal expectations.’

        Sunstorm felt his knees quake, as If he were ready to fall through the floor and sink deeper until there was nothing left. ‘But… does that mean… have I been toyed with? Has Primus been playing me like a marionette this whole time? _Is_ there a Primus?! Dear God, have I been running around doing all this… alone? Does a God even exist?!’

        Starscream made a tsk-noise and raised his saw-blade; leveling it with Sunstorm’s spark-chamber. ‘Oh, Sunstorm. Of _course_ a God exists…’ He thrust his blade through Sunstorm’s chest, cutting through the incendiary chemicals and new-age wires. Transforming his blade back into his hand, Starscream’s servo burst out of Sunstorm’s back, holding a humming spark wrapped around wet digits. He used his other to hold up the broken Seeker’s head, paying close attention to detail as he leveled his face with his own until their optics locked – unwavering and staring into one another. He squeezed down, crushing the spark in his hand with a quick muscular reflex, sending a jolt through the rest of Sunstorm’s remaining operative functions. Suddenly, everything made sense.

Starscream bared his teeth. _‘…You’re looking at him.’_

\-----

        Optimus wailed on her, swinging his axe wildly at her, forcing her into a defensive position. ‘Do you –hng- surrender yet?’

        ‘Mm… no.’ Slipstream thrusted forward, narrowly dodging his axe and piercing her blade through Prime’s chest. ‘I think this is over. It’s been fun. Well, not really. I’ll just carve your spark out of your chest and be on my way.’

Optimus dropped his axe, grabbing at Slipstream’s wrist as she sawed through his chest capacitors.

Thundercracker, watching this from afar, swore and sprang into action. He couldn’t let Slipstream kill him, otherwise that would make _her_ leader. He brandished his pistol and fired five shots that struck into her back. Slipstream gasped and stumbled, blinking in confusion as chunks of her back kibble burst and crumpled off her body. She dropped her sword and turned around to find the source of the unexpected assault. She locked eyes with Thundercracker as he reloaded and aimed his weapon at the Seeker. Her face morphed into a look of primal aggression as she turned away from Prime and reached for the scientist furiously.

        ‘You!’ She heaved as Thundercracker fired another round of bullet fire, dotting her body with bullet-holes and leaked oil. She fell on one knee and gained her balance at a much slower rate.

        Thundercracker had already begun reloading. It would only take unloading one more clip into her head to finish her off. Then, all that remained was Prime.

        ‘Thundercracker!’ A voice roared.

        He turned around. It was Strika. The general was furious. ‘What the hell are you doing?!’

        Thundercracker raised his pistol to the sky. ‘Um, killing Slipstream. Then I was going to kill Prime. Is that not why we’re here?’

        Strika sprinted over and grabbed Thundercracker by the face, lifting him high above the ground and to her eye-level. ‘Did you not get the message?!’

        ‘What message? What are you even talking about?’

         ‘Slipstream is on _our_ side!’

        The general squeezed his skull as the Seeker scavenged for reason. ‘Since when?!’

        ‘Since you stopped answering your communicator.’ She pointed to the empty sky. ‘We have been fighting a _war_ while you were spoiling our absolute victory!’

        Thundercracker was running out of things to say. ‘Well—did we win?’

        Strika dropped him. Calming down if only slightly. ‘Almost. Sunstorm—the bad guy – escaped with the Nemesis after we beat him up and took his lunch money.’

        ‘Starscream’s here?’ Slipstream wondered, holding her wounds.

        Strika nodded. ‘Yeah, though he seemed kind of… mopey. I think he’s just pissed because he’s probably never going to see the Nemesis again.’

        As if on cue, the Nemesis warped back into place in the sky above the four robots. ‘WAIT, NOPE, THERE IT IS!’

        Strika banged her fists together in excitement. ‘Back for more, eh? Come on, Slipstream, tell me you’re not itching to kill this spawn of a glitch… eh Slipstream? … Slipstream? It’d be great if you’d respond.’

But she couldn’t.

Upon regaining his vision, Optimus acted upon instinct—grabbing his axe and jumping to his feet behind Slipstream. He swung his axe down upon her head, planting the blade through her skull and lodging it dead-set between her optics.

The Air Commander stood disoriented from the sudden course of pain quaking through her head and body. She tried to speak, but only let out a few bubbled murmurs before falling forward and landing flat on her face – her head contents spilling onto the concrete. Thundercracker dashed forward, failing to catch her, and falling by her side.

        Optimus landed on his knees. ‘Oh no.’ His hands reached for his face. ‘Ohhhh no. I didn’t just—this can’t be happening. Not again. I said I wouldn’t—I didn’t want to—Oh Primus, I did it again.’

        Thundercracker ripped the axe from her cranium and tossed it aside. With it, came off much of her facial structure, rendering her expressionless and still. Activating his scans, Thundercracker quickly bowed his head. ‘She’s alive. Her brain module has been pierced, but nothing fatal.’ He faced Optimus, his goggles retracting. ‘I can’t say she’ll be fully… functional, but she’ll live.’

        Optimus smiled warmly. ‘Thank you… I’m so sorry and—thank you.’

        Strika cracked her knuckles and charged forward. ‘Unfortunately, I won’t be able to say the same about you.’ The general threw a punch square into Prime’s chest, rippling throughout his body and throwing him onto his across the street and onto his back. Thundercracker quickly joined in, unloading the rest of his pistol clips into Prime’s limbs and preventing him from escaping. Strika kicked Prime’s broken body aside and readied her fist for execution. ‘I hope you’re ready to pay for what you’ve done. For what you did to Megatron…’

The minute she finished her sentence, the sound of quantum engines roared from her twelve. She looked up to find herself faced with the Ark, its golden body blazing towards the scene mere meters from the ground. Its massive guns primed.

        ‘Oh geez.’ Strika said as the barrels of the ship’s cannons came alight.

The Ark unloaded a barrage of heavy artillery and fusion fire that homed in and struck Strika in the torso.

        The blast sent her flying backwards and soaring through the air with her chest-cavity exposed and her body aflame. ‘Ohmanohgeesohgoshohgeezohmanohgoshohgeez.’ The large Decepticon finished her flight as she crashed through a sky-scraper and into a pile of rubble.

One of the Ark’s windows opened and Ironhide peaked out his head, screaming barbarically and firing pot-shots at Thundercracker. ‘COOOOME AND GET SOOOOOOMMME!’

Thundercracker laughed nervously before transforming and jetting off after Strika out of pure cowardice.

The Ark flew at an angle as Ironhide extended a servo, grabbing Prime and pulling him into the ship before evening out once again.

        Once inside, Optimus noticed that Blackarachnia was at the controls. ‘I am a child and have no idea how to fly this thing.’

        ‘You did it before.’ Ironhide argued.

        ‘I _crashed_ it before.’

        ‘Oh yeah.’ Optimus snapped his fingers as he regained his balance. ‘Remind me to never let you fly the Ark.’

        ‘Okay.’ She said, flying the Ark.

        ‘… Stop that.’

        ‘Stop what?’

        ‘Flying the Ark.’

        ‘Oh.’ She moved aside and allowed Optimus to grab the controls.

  -----

        Thundercracker transformed and landed before Strika. She was rubbing the back of her head woozily.

        ‘He’s got an Ark!’

        Strika glared at the Seeker, her body falling apart upon stomaching its full firepower. ‘You don’t say?’

        ‘What do we do?!’

        She activated her shoulder-cannons. ‘We blow it out of the sky, obviously!’

The two proceeded to activate whatever missile compartment, hand-held weaponry, and laser-targeted artillery they had at the warship, breaking off little more than a scratch after having used up most of it in their previous conflicts.

        ‘Well, this sucks.’ Thundercracker stated as the Ark fired another burst at the ground beneath their feet, and forcing them to dive out of the way of the blast. He stared at the Nemesis as it hovered carelessly above. ‘What the hell is Sunstorm doing up there? Can he not see the Autobot spaceship parked right in front of him?!’

        Strika growled. ‘I don’t care…’ She roared. ‘HEY! SUNSTORM! HOW ABOUT YOU QUIT FONDLING YOUR GEARSTICK AND DO SOMETHING USEFUL FOR A CHANGE!’

        As if on cue, the Nemesis’ tractor beam activated, showering over Strika and Thundercracker.

        ‘Oh.’ Strika said as the two Decepticons were quickly sucked into the hovering warship.

\-----

Starscream pressed the button repeatedly.

        Obsidian slithered over from over-head; his frame still crumbling from the previous battle. ‘I see you were successful.’ He nodded to Skywarp, who looked as if the energy was being sucked from his body. ‘Impressive.’

        The strategist stared as Starscream punched the button. ‘What are you doing?’ Obsidian asked.

        ‘Trying to fire the Nemesis’ guns.’ He pointed at the Ark on the main view-screen. It had made a U-turn and was attempting to escape. The Nemesis was chasing after it, but refused to fire. ‘See?’

        ‘Ah.’ Obsidian tapped the screen, transitioning it to the ship’s power-core. ‘Well here’s your problem. Sunstorm wasted all of our fire-power during his… episode. Typical.’

        Starscream slumped over. ‘Oh…’ he turned to Sunstorm’s corpse. ‘Great going, Sunny. You sure were resourceful, Sunny. Big inspiration, wow. I give you two thumbs up.’ Instead he flipped Sunstorm off, twice.

        From the center of the room, came the others. Fatigued and somewhat disoriented from the whole mess. Thundercracker immediately dashed towards Skywarp. ‘What are you doing awake?!’

        Skywarp made a drunken grin. ‘You should ‘a seen Starscream, dude. He was, like, “blegh, die!” And stuff. It was cool. He’s cool.’ Skywarp blinked. ‘I am a special snowflake…’

        ‘Hey… hey, Skywarp, stay with me!’

        ‘I think I need to—.’ Skywarp fell over, falling back into stasis-lock.

        ‘Dammit!’ He turned to Starscream. ‘You shouldn’t have woken him up. He wasn’t ready to teleport!’

        ‘Boo-hoo, cry me a river.’ Starscream said. His optics caught sight of an extra object that teleported with them. ‘What the hell is that? Were you guys in a dumpster when we grabbed you, or what?’

        ‘Oh.’ Strika stared at the object quizzically. ‘That’s Slipstream. As you can see, Prime did a number to her.’

Slipstream made a gurgling sound as black liquid oozed from what was left of her mouth.

        ‘Grooosssss.’ Starscream said. He turned back to the main monitor. ‘Okay, we have no weaponry that can affect it. Obsidian, I hate to say this but I’m sor--, I mean I apolo--.’ He shook his head and gagged. ‘I mean you were… right… about… sticking… together...’ he mumbled on.

        ‘I understand.’ Obsidian said, nonchalantly.

        ‘Good. I’m glad you understand. Now, do you have any further brilliant ideas? How would you suggest we proceed?’

        ‘Tactically?’ Obsidian sighed. ‘I know you’re not going to like this, but we’re going to need to call a retreat.’

        ‘No.’

        ‘Oh don’t give me that crap.’ He gestured to the others. ‘We’re not fit for combat. In fact we just fought an entire enemy armada on our own! I know you hate me, but trust me when I say I know when to stop when you’re ahead.’

        Starscream lowered his optics.

        ‘Look at us, Starscream. The Nemesis could fall out of the sky at any moment, I’m literally falling apart, Strika just stomached an Ark’s payload, Skywarp and Slipstream are practically brain-dead, and Thundercracker is Thundercracker.’

        ‘I resent that!’ The blue Seeker called out.

        He placed a weak hand on Starscream’s shoulder. ‘You’re not exactly “fit” either. I know you think you’re fine, but you’re not. As invincible as you’d like to believe you are… this isn’t the way to prove it.’

        Starscream squinted, sighed, and let out a groan. He slammed his head into the monitor, forcing the ship to automatically replace it with yet another. He turned to the others. ‘Decepticons… prepare to retreat.’ He looked at Obsidian once more. ‘Just one last thing…’

\-----

The Ark’s thrusters flared as the Nemesis began to overtake it, shadowing it in its massive loom.

The Nemesis descended upon it before rotating sideways until the side-view window was fully aligned with the Ark’s hull. Starscream stuck his head out, flipping off the Ark.

        ‘Oh my God.’ Optimus stepped out of his command chair. ‘Take control of the ship, Blackarachnia.’

        ‘‘Kay.’

Optimus moved to the top-deck of the Ark, poking his head out to face Starscream as he flew overhead.

        ‘Hey! Jerk-face! Get outta here!’

        Starscream made an imitative gesture. ‘Ooh, look, I’m so scared.’

        ‘You want to go? Because we totally kicked your aft today.’

        ‘Oh, yeah, because you’re so strong, and it’s totally not because your team was too busy getting hit on by the organics, while we were fighting off a space-armada all on our own.’

        ‘Say that again and I’ll blow your face off, right now. Seriously, I’ve got the Ark’s guns erected and everything.’

        ‘Lewd!’

        ‘Not what I—what?’

        ‘Anyways, we’re pulling a tactical retreat! I just came out to let you know, and to remind you of how dumb you are. Because you’re dumb. And you’re ugly, too. Oh, and also how I’m totally going to kill you the next time we meet.’

        ‘Yeah, well… No you won’t.’

        ‘Yes I will.’

        ‘No you won’t.’

        ‘… Uh, yeah. I will, that’s why I said it.’

        ‘Well this isn’t even an argument! It’s just contradiction!’

        ‘… No it’s not.’

        Optimus grinned. ‘You know Blackarachnia? The death-machine that razed worlds? She’s with us, so, yeah. It’s kind of a big deal.’

        ‘Yeah? Well, we still outnumber you.’

        ‘Oh come on.’

        ‘Yeah, seriously. Me, Obsidian, Strika, Thundercracker—Oh! And we just got a new recruit: Slipstream.’

        ‘What?! Well that’s not fair! You guys already had four. You’re not allowed to get a new member before we do!’

        ‘Technically we have Skywarp in cold storage. So six. We double you! Or we at least outnumber you – like – five-point-five to one.’

        Optimus let out a groan.

        ‘Anyways, we gotta go meet up with Acid Storm and the others to get even _more_ members. Ta-ta now~.’

The Nemesis ascended until it was far out of Prime’s reach. He simply stood there, fuming. ‘Youuuu Asshole!’

Optimus returned back into the Ark as it warped out of Talon-5’s atmosphere. He stomped his way back onto the main deck.

         Ironhide quickly grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Everything alright?’

        Optimus sighed. ‘We really need more members.’

        He nodded. ‘Understood. I’ll go construct some audition pamphlets.’

        Before Optimus could say no, Ironhide had already gone to bust out the markers and construction paper.

        Blackarachnia called out from the controls. ‘I still have no idea what’s going on over here. Guys?’


	31. Bet Threat

Ironhide sighed, returning to the Ark’s bridge empty handed as Optimus set the ship to autopilot. The Nemesis had long since warped out of their periphery, and the Ark had set its course out of Talon’s atmosphere.

                ‘I couldn’t find any of the craft-materials I bought,’ Ironhide said. He perked up suddenly and cleared his throat. ‘Not that I bought them for myself or anything...’

                ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Prime said, looking away from the main monitor. ‘Besides, we’ve got more important matters at hand.’

                ‘Like?’ Blackarachnia asked, lazing around in the command chair.

                Optimus pointed at the rear-view monitor. Dotting the translucent screen were tens of law-enforcement ships trailing after them in hot pursuit.

                ‘Aww, geez,’ Ironhide said, slapping his forehead. ‘I forgot to tell you, Prime. We are – how do I put this – we’re technically wanted criminals now.’

                ‘We’re wanted criminals now,’ Optimus mirrored in disbelief. His optics darted to Blackarachnia.

                The spider quickly sat up from the chair and stared back at him. ‘Why are you looking at me?’

                ‘I’m sorry to assume, but…’

                ‘But?’

                ‘But if anyone is going to practise something illegal here, it’s you.’

                Blackarachnia swung her claw at her defensively. ‘That’s racist. Just because I have a streak, doesn’t mean I break the law wherever I go. I’m too cool for that.’

                Optimus extended a respectful servo. ‘I understand, and I apologize for assuming the _registered serial killer_ to be responsible for why the police are after us.’ He turned to Ironhide. ‘So what’s the “real” story, or so help me please.’

                Ironhide nodded, twiddling his thumbs. ‘Alright, well you see… er…’ He handed it over to Blackarachnia. ‘Yeah! Tell him, Decepticon!’

                She sighed before slipping off the command chair and joining the two. ‘Okay, I’ll explain everything. But, uh, geez, it is quite the story.’

                Optimus folded his arms, sternly. ‘That’s alright, I like stories.’

                ‘Yeah, Blackarachnia!’ Ironhide added with vigor. ‘The man _likes_ stories!’

                Blackarachnia smiled nervously. ‘Great, then you’re going to love this one.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Now uh—let’s see… Okay, so once upon a time, I was handing Blackarachnia her crown of awesome…’

She paused as Optimus and Ironhide stared at her numbly.

                ‘Oh.’ She clarified. ‘This is a first-person narrative. An internal dialogue if you will. It, uh… takes place from the perspective of Ironhide.’

                Ironhide scratched his head. ‘That’s weird.’

                Optimus nodded in sudden understanding. ‘Oh, that makes sense.’

                Blackarachnia batted her servos excitedly. ‘Okay, now where was I—oh yes! I was handing Blackarachnia her crown of awesome, which she won from me in an arm wrestling match because I’m a weak baby. Hi, my name is Ironhide, again.’

                Optimus waggled a finger at her in slight agreement. ‘Oh yeah…!’

                Ironhide barely offered a glance. ‘Is that so?’

                She nodded. ‘That is so.’

                ‘… Go on.’

                Blackarachnia jumped into a story-telling stance as she continued. ‘So yeah, while I was doing typical baby things like the weak-baby-extraordinaire I am, a bunch of Quintessons came in, with like, a thousand guns, and they were riding giant copper elephants with lasers and missiles and the like. They said: “Hey, our dumb laws say that you Cybertronians can’t be out of jail!” When Blackarachnia stepped up and was like: “why?” And they were like—‘

                ‘Oh!’ Optimus spoke up. ‘I get it, so the Quintessons tried arresting you out of an allegation of conspiracy with Decepticon—‘

                ‘HEY!’ Blackarachnia yelled, stomping her foot against the floor with each pause. ‘Let. Me. Tell. The story!’

                Optimus pulled his servos back in shock.

                ‘I never get to do anything!’ She belted through gritted teeth and threw her arms in the air. ‘GAH!’

                Optimus nodded quickly, shrinking his head into his chest. ‘Okay… geez.’

                The Decepticon panted before clearing her throat, and continuing once more. ‘… So then they were like: “Because all Cybertronians need to be in jail whenever bad things happen.” And I was like: “muh canons” And Blackie was like: “Not on my chronometer!” So she did a triple backflip and killed the—‘

                ‘You what?!’

                Blackarachnia corrected herself. ‘I mean, she _beat up_ all the bad aliens so we could leave the bar and retrieve the Ark in peace. Oh, and to save your life as well. Then everyone was happy, the end.’ She proceeded to take a bow of modesty for her epic retelling of events.

                Optimus hummed skeptically before turning to Ironhide. ‘Is all this true?’

                He shrugged. ‘She actually pretty much hit the nail on the head.’ He paused. ‘Or… I did.’ He massaged the side of his helm and turned towards Blackarachnia. ‘I’m confused, if you’re me, then does that make me you? Then who’s Optimus in this scenario? I’m… not sure how this works.’

The ship rumbled as a laser-blast struck the Ark’s rear engines.

                ‘Oh yeah!’ Blackarachnia remembered. ‘Since we assaulted over fifty people, I think that places us comfortably in the “wanted-dead” spectrum of Talonian Law Enforcement.’

                ‘Oh, so that means we should…’ Optimus pointed at the control panel.

                ‘Yeah, we should probably book it.’

                Optimus dashed over and slammed his fist against the warp-speed inputs. The Ark’s thrusters glowed cyan, and the ship shot forward in a blink; leaving the organic law-enforcement ships in their dust.

                Optimus massaged his optics and turned back to his crew-mates. ‘You guys assaulted fifty organics.’

                ‘They _did_ start it…’ Ironhide said.

                ‘You _assaulted_ fifty organics!’

                ‘We didn’t kill them…’ Blackarachnia added. ‘We only broke every bone in their bodies.’

                Optimus dipped his head back and covered his eyes in shame. ‘Oh my goodness, you guys.’

                ‘It’s okay…’ Ironhide said, placing a hand on Prime’s shoulder. ‘It’s what Batman would have done.’

                Optimus sighed. ‘Yeah, I _suppose_ you’re right. I should probably be thankful that you didn’t commit any needless crimes like theft or murder. …Though that’s less of an accomplishment and more of a standard, to be frank.’ He sighed. ‘From now on, the two of you need to stop committing crimes. Really, I don’t know how much more direct I can be about this.’

                Blackarachnia choked—coughing until a small, jelly-covered jar burst from her mouth. Inside was the pet spider they had purchased earlier.

                Optimus and Ironhide stared at the jar, and then back to her. ‘Blackarachnia.’ Optimus said, carefully. ‘Did you just barf up another living thing?’

                Blackarachnia continued coughing before spitting out a small box that expanded into Ironhide’s arts-and-crafts kit. ‘Yep,’ she said before coughing again.

                ‘Blackarachnia, what the hell are you doing?’ Optimus said again.

                ‘Oh, well, I’ll be honest. I’ve been “borrowing” some things.’

                ‘What?’

                She hacked up a gaming system. ‘You know about my mass-displacement module? Of course you do. Well, I can also change the sizes of certain inanimate objects so long as I am always touching them. I’ve been stealing from most of the stores we visited, mass-displacing the stuff we need, and swallowing it,’ she coughed up a shower of ammunition. ‘Aah—it is painful as all hell, but it _does_ mean we’ll never have to pay for anything ever again.’

                Optimus watched on, dumbfounded. ‘I can’t believe you. You’ve been stealing things this whole time?!’ He shook his head. ‘I really need to start grounding you guys—you’re just so… _bad._ ’

                Blackarachnia coughed up a pyramid of Energon cubes. ‘Aren’t we all?’ A grin spread across her lips. ‘Say, Ironhide, I think you lost our bet.’

                ‘What bet?’

                Blackarachnia coughed up a large bowl of mints that spilled onto the floor.

                ‘Oh,’ Ironhide lowered his head. ‘Dammit.’

                ‘So, how about it?’

                ‘No.’

                ‘You promised.’

                Ironhide sighed, and took an agitated step towards her. ‘What you are about to see, is top secret. Tell anyone, and die.’ Ironhide raised a digit, and pressed at a hidden compartment located on his under-arm. A small click sounded from the area, and his cannons fell off from their usual spot and hit the ground with a clang.

                Blackarachnia’s smile widened. ‘I knew it!’

                Ironhide refused to make eye-contact as he retrieved his guns. ‘Whatever.’

                ‘Your arms!’

                He re-attached his cannons quickly and felt them click into place. ‘My arms aren’t as impressive when I remove my cannons. Who cares? It doesn’t mean a damn thing when I can still clobber you into scrap where you stand. Besides, I never need to take them off, anyway.’

                ‘Unless you lose in a mint-eating bet.’

                ‘Unless I lose in a mint-eating bet…’ Ironhide sighed.

Optimus patted each of them on the shoulder. ‘See, I think we all learned a valuable lesson today. Blackarachnia is afraid of spiders…’

                ‘Don’t touch me.’

                ‘Ironhide looks like a wimp without his over-compensators...’

                ‘Just because you’re my boss, doesn’t mean I can’t hit you.’

                ‘…And we all belong in prison! All in all I think we’ve grown from this experience.’

                Blackarachnia started coughing again, spitting up a small box that expanded into a large television set. The television was already playing, showing a news-broadcast from Talon. The broadcast predominantly featured the destruction of the city amidst the Nemesis’ fire-fight, though the channel soon changed to that of a concert. Specifically, the one where Optimus was on stage, singing.

Optimus quickly dove for the TV, hitting the power button and shutting it off. Ironhide and Blackarachnia stared at him, and laughed.

                ‘Oh, come on…’ Optimus said.

                ‘What the hell was that?’ Blackarachnia said, holding in her laugh.

                ‘I didn’t know you could sing,’ Ironhide mused.

                ‘Forget it!’ Optimus pointed at the jarred spider. ‘Why don’t we give that a name?’

                ‘Why don’t we quit changing the subject and keep having fun, instead?’ Blackarachnia said. ‘So, what was that? Michael Jackson? Some Ray Charles, I heard?’

                ‘You don’t even know who either of those people are…’ Optimus sighed, and stared at the gaming system, then to the television set. He whirled his head up to face Ironhide. ‘…At least we can play videogames now.’

                ‘Does this mean what I think it means?’ Ironhide wondered, anxiously.

                Prime nodded. ‘We can waste so many hours… performing the ultimate test of skill and reflexes.’

                Ironhide grinned dastardly. ‘With the power of videogames at our disposal, the Decepticons won’t know what hit them. Our skill-level will be off the charts!’

                Optimus pumped his arms. ‘Yeah!’ He went to Blackarachnia. ‘Hey, did you steal—I mean, “Borrow” some kind of seating apparatus? You know, like a couch, or—’

Blackarachnia wrung her hands. ‘Oh, yeah.’ She coughed up a small object which proceeded to enlarge into a massive, metal bunk-bed that unfolded and landed on them.

                ‘Well… damn,’ Optimus said through a muffled voice.

                ‘On the bright side, I finally have a bed of my own, now,’ Ironhide said deadpanned.

                ‘Don’t you already sleep under the boss-bot’s bed?’ Blackarachnia asked from across him.

                ‘That was purely for the sake of increased compression. Look it up.’

                ‘You know what? Let’s just sleep it off and settle the problem in the morning.’ Optimus said, finally.

                ‘Fine.’

                ‘Fine.’

\-----

The city wasn’t razed, but the occasional stray shot and contact between robots and building had done its damage to Talon’s prized capital. As the evacuated population began to slowly flood back into the cities residence, Talon’s leaders gathered in the Trade Building’s meeting room at its top floor.

                Quantax waited in the main elevator, his egg-shaped body hovering silently alone in the center of the compact lift. His mind raced with thoughts on times and people long-since dust. He remembered when he was something. When he was the General of the Quintesson fleet—Second to Lord Xenon himself. When Ryknia reported to him the status of his bar (a quaint establishment, albeit notorious for selling-out-for-profits), Quantax leaped into action, organizing the Master-Fleet and sending them out to clean up any remaining Cybes. But before he had the chance to stretch his aching bones and engage in one final stand against the barbarian race that caused him so much heat-ache in the past, the threat had already dissipated. The Decepticons had come in, had their quarrel, and left just as abruptly. If Xenon were still in charge, things would be different. But he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Lord Chancellor Xenon had long-since been toppled and decommissioned. He, and the Quintessons were the peak of the Galaxy. When the fabled Swarm and Vok had ascended into a new form of life through typical evolution, the Quintessons were next in line to take over as leaders of the Universe.

They were strict, commanding, but ultimately fair. They deserved their placement. It was one of the most disappointing events in the history of the Universe when the Cybertronians touched the stars. Evolution’s killing machines had rampaged across the Galaxy, and no matter how often the Quintessons tried to fight back, they ultimately failed. Even when attempts were made in order to combat both factions, Xenon would stop, call-off all conversation on the topic, and explain that the event would accomplish nothing but add more fuel to the fire. The Cybertronian War was a puzzle even the races highest form of life couldn’t solve. Besides, in recent decades the Quintessons were far too busy to call for any major intervention, for while the Cybertronians were occupied with their war, the Quintessons were fighting a war of their own.

The Quintesson Fleet was nothing to sneeze at, in fact it was one of the most dangerous threats in the Galaxy, what they didn’t expect was to be challenged. It was a young race. Barely evolved and only recently reaching for the stars. They had apparently interacted with enough alien life to develop their own anti-alien technology—enough so they could rally/threaten their own sector of followers. Their technology was far more advanced than something so young should have been able to accomplish, which is why they couldn’t possibly have come up with it themselves. Because they could not—could never possibly have created something so young. Because, _please_ , Quantax thought, _please_ don’t let it be _that_ , anything but _that._

The war wasn’t an easy, but thankfully ended sharply and swiftly. There was potential for defeat, but ultimately they were far too advanced for that. The Quintessons were the highest form of life in the Galaxy, praised by millions, and seen as the last form of salvation in this God-forsaken Universe.

                ‘And thankfully,’ Quantax said aloud. ‘We lost.’

The doors opened, leading Quantax into the meeting chamber. Sitting in the center was the giant faceless automaton—a being that mirrored the advanced form of law enforcement the planet entailed. Despite its size, posture, and golden glory, it was a mere sergeant, and far from the high-ranked personnel that now ruled over the Milky Way.

                The faceless mechanical sat cross-legged in the center of the room, several sages lined the walls as Quantax entered. ‘The Cybertronians,’ the being said in a staticy voice. ‘Did you managed to capture _any_ of them?’

                ‘No, Sergeant Atlas,’ Quantax reported. ‘We found some bodies, but if I recall, those are your men’s jurisdiction.’

                ‘Indeed,’ Atlas said in a saddened voice. ‘You failed.’

                ‘Well—yes.’

                Atlas rose to his feet, his body hunched over as so his head would not touch the ceiling.

                ‘Permission to speak, sir.’

                ‘Permission granted.’

                ‘Why are you still wearing that armour? I would think this would be an informal occasion.’

                The giant’s body shrugged as he extended a servo—pinning Quantax to the ground and pressing his digits further into his torso. ‘I don’t know. Because you want to hear me say I wish to be protected? That I’m afraid? It’s because I’m smart, Quantax, unlike your leader.’ He pressed deeper and Quantax squealed. ‘And unlike you. Granted you expected to speak in such a way without any repercussion.’

Quantax apologized, repeating the phrase until Atlas released his grip. The giant suited-alien stepped backwards before sitting cross-legged once again.

                ‘You are dismissed for now.’

Quantax panted, and nodded. Hovering upright before scurrying out of the room, and back into the elevator.

Atlas clasped his digits together. ‘Perhaps… hm,’ He activated a set of comm-codes within his suit, and made contact with an associate. ‘Perhaps it would be best if we put some time in recognizing the Cybertronian threat.’

                _‘What? No hello?’_ Came the voice from the other end of the call.

                ‘Whatever. Contact the others, I need to know when to begin.’

                _‘We begin when we’re told we begin. Besides, we have all the time in the world. Best accumulate our forces over time rather than launching our assault prematurely.’_

                ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Atlas said, closing the communication without as much as a goodbye. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day…’ he mused, ‘and killing the Transformers is going to take a hell of a lot longer than that.’

\-----

Starscream sat at his make-shift desk in the center of Nemesis’ bridge. Strika and Obsidian stood obediently at either side. Thundercracker was off near the other end of the room, lifting Skywarp up and dumping him back in his cryo-tube for further recharge.

                ‘Back in the tube you go.’ Thundercracker muttered

Starscream’s fingers clasped together. He arched his back like he were some upper-class business executive and flicked a servo at Strika. ‘Send in the next.’ He made his command, modifying his voice to sound lower than it really was.

                Obsidian and Strika exchanged looks. ‘What do you mean “next”?’ Strika wondered aloud. ‘We haven’t let anyone in yet. Who else is even on this ship?’

                Obsidian lifted a servo. ‘Just drop it, Strika.’

                ‘Yeah, Strika, drop it,’ Starscream echoed.

                ‘He’s just saying things to feel more powerful than he really is.’

                Starscream scoffed. ‘That’s hilarious, Obsidian. I don’t know what you’re doing playing the part of a military strategist that shuts up when they’re told when you could totally become a famous comedian instead.’

                ‘Maybe you should all shut up for a change.’ Thundercracker hollered at them from his console. ‘Some quiet would be great while I’m working. Please and thank you.’

                ‘Shut up, Thundercracker!’ Starscream, Obsidian, and Strika yelled in unison.

                Strika hummed, musing. ‘And here I thought you two were starting to get buddy-buddy on me.’

                They both laughed, and Obsidian shook his head. ‘Heh, no, not even close.’

                ‘Exactly.’ Starscream said, his expression taking a sudden remote turn. ‘Now open those damned doors before I rip your eyes out.’

Strika made a calming gesture. ‘Okay, geez.’ She cleared her throat and raised a list to her face before reading out the first names. ‘Acid Storm and the entire Aerospace Legion. Get your tight asses in here.’

                The doors burst open, and a mere seven Seekers entered. They were Acid Storm, Bitstream, Redwing, Nacelle, Hotlink, Hooligan and Guyhawk.

                Starscream extended an arm to the small group with a small grasp of understanding. ‘What is this? Where are the rest of you?’

                Acid Storm made a quick gesture to the mountain of dead bodies shoved into the corner of the room, and Starscream got his answer.

                ‘Oh.’

                ‘“Oh” is right, Starscream. Oh is most definitely the “right” response to killing over half of your followers.’

                Starscream shrugged. ‘Well, I _have_ made some mistakes… I don’t always respond as well as I should. Sometimes it takes me long to respond at all.’

                Acid Storm pointed at the cadavers and scowled. ‘Half of those people are dead because of you!’

                ‘Well, let’s not point fingers now—‘

                ‘You ordered Ramjet to self-destruct in the middle of a close-quarters combat situation.’

                ‘Yeah, and it worked.’

                ‘You killed them!’

                Starscream dropped his servos against his desk. ‘And so what? What does that _mean_ to you? Are your feelings hurt? Are you going to try killing me in exchange? Where does this line get drawn? Because no matter how this ends, I will still be standing. I can’t tell where you’ll end up, though.’

                Acid Storm clenched his fists. ‘Not following you.’

                Hotlink grabbed Acid Storm lightly by the shoulder and pulled him back. ‘You made your point, let’s get out of here, quickly.’ The Seekers proceeded to exit the bridge as Acid Storm stepped backward.

                Acid Storm called back. ‘We’re following the example of Thrust and Dirge. We aren’t defined by our squadron. Not anymore.’

Strika raised her fists. ‘Should we be punishing them right now? Or is this one of those live-and-let-live scenarios.’

                ‘The latter,’ Starscream answered, intertwining his servos.

                Strika lowered her head. ‘Damn. I hate those scenarios.’

                ‘On the other hand…’ He stood from his desk. ‘Acid Storm!’

The Rainmaker granted him little attention. He didn’t deserve it.

                ‘I’m letting you make your choice. After all, killing you would be pointless. However, if you rebel against me, you will die. If you side with an opposing faction, you will die. If I hear you mutter a word about me again, you will die. If I hear your name in passing on some obscure planet, I will hunt you down, and you will die. If I so much as see you in my line of sight, you will die. Now go, enjoy your freedom. Just remember your choice, and honour it until the end.’

                Acid Storm wouldn’t face Starscream, instead he turned to the blue Seeker working on the stasis tube. ‘C’mon, Thundercracker. I know you don’t like it here. You’re not alone. Just come with us, and you won’t have to be Starscream’s lap-dog anymore.’

                Thundercracker considered this, before facing the rainmaker and grinning. ‘No.’

                Acid Storm blinked, startled by the sudden response.

                ‘Today, two of Slipstream’s men tried to kill me, and I know they aren’t the only ones out there who want me dead.’ He looked back at Obsidian and Strika, who stared at him through curious optics. ‘I don’t belong anywhere. But if there _was_ anywhere I belonged… it’s here.’

Acid storm raised his upper lip in disgust and spat at Thundercracker’s feet. He left without another word.

                Starscream let out a yawn and craned his head to see Obsidian. ‘It’s kind of bizarre, really. You’d think at least one of them would trust in my intellect.’

                ‘Well, they can’t technically trust in something that doesn’t exist.’ Strika said.

                Starscream wagged a finger in Strika’s direction, forcing himself to grin. ‘A-aa-aah. You’re a cheeky one, Strika, I’ll give you that.’

                ‘Oh, but there was _someone_ who thought it was a good idea to come along for the ride.’ Strika remembered.

                Starscream perked his head. ‘Oh? Who?’

Strika reached under the table and pulled out a large slab of metal that she promptly dropped on Starscream’s desk like a pile of old-hardware. It was Slipstream’s body. She made weak sounds as the hole in her face bubbled with rust-infected Energon.

                ‘Ah. Right,’ Starscream leaned back. ‘Thundercracker.’ He addressed the Seeker. ‘You should be able to fix her, uh, entire face. Yeah?’

Thundercracker shrugged. ‘I could, yeah. She might not be in mint condition, but I can almost guarantee she’ll be better off than Skywarp.’

                ‘Good,’ Starscream drummed his digits against his desk before flicking his servo at Strika. ‘Okay, Strika, seriously, get this pathetic zombie off my desk. My eyes have turned depressed just from looking at it.’

                ‘Y’okay,’ Strika picked Slipstream up by the head like a doll and let the rest of her body swing side-to-side from the neck down. ‘Where do you want me to put her?’

                ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just toss her into the corpse-pile for now. We’ll get back to her later.’ He sighed. ‘And when did it become so awkward to sit while everyone else is standing? Who even put this desk here?’

                ‘ _You_ did, Commander Starscream.’ Obsidian answered.

                Starscream stood up and flipped the desk over. ‘Problem solved.’ He stared at Thundercracker once more. ‘Say, Strika, could you send in my next appointment?’

                Strika nodded and picked the list off of the ground. ‘Whatever. Well, next up is… Thundercracker.’

                The blue seeker turned around, staggered. ‘What?’

                ‘You’re next.’ Starscream said, gesturing Thundercracker to stand before him. ‘C’mon, at least try to be formal.’

                Thundercracker shuffled awkwardly towards the others until he stood before Starscream. ‘Uh… hi.’

                Starscream granted him the benefit of a nod.

                ‘So, uh… what’ up? Actually, a better question would be: why are you making this so… confidential. There’s literally only four of us on this ship.’

                ‘Never mind that.’ Starscream chewed. ‘You remember that bet we made earlier?’

                Thundercracker couldn’t.

                ‘—where if you couldn’t find a use for Skywarp, I’d have him sent back to Soundwave.’

                ‘Oh.’ Thundercracker nodded hesitantly.

                Starscream leaned back and jazzed his hands. ‘Ta-daaa! You won. Skywarp’s teleportation got us the Nemesis back.’

                ‘Oh.’ Thundercracker repeated, nodding. ‘Then that’s… good.’

                Starscream nodded back. ‘Exactly. Now I just need to find a use for you.’

                Thundercracker’s spark went dim for half a nano-second.

                ‘Kidding!’ Starscream assured with a grin. ‘I can’t get rid of you yet.’

                The seeker exhaled, loosening his posture. ‘Yes, thank you Starscream.’

                ‘Then again…’ Starscream’s thrusters activated, and the Commander burst forward, brandishing a fist and punching a clean hole through Thundercracker’s chest, reaching out the other side and gripping a spark with the tips of his servos.

Thundercracker couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The shock had overwhelmed him.

                ‘This is how I killed Sunstorm. Tasteful, yes?’

                He didn’t respond.

                ‘Can you feel it? That cold pain around your spark? The lack of control…’ He brought his face to match Thundercracker’s. ‘ _I_ am in control. Whether you live or die—everything. Remember that.’ He squeezed down, and Thundercracker let out a cry of anguish. ‘So whenever you try to do something I do not warrant, there is a good chance I myself might fumble. You cost us an operating Slipstream, and the head of Optimus Prime. While you are our only science officer, and therefore necessary to operate the Nemesis and repair our wounded, do know that you are an easily replaceable asset.’

                He pulled Thundercracker’s corded spark back into his chest and let go. Thundercracker fell to his knees.

                ‘The way Sunstorm treated this ship is a travesty. I fully expect the Nemesis to be cleaned, and the spilled Energon to be mopped up by the end of the cycle. As for the cadavers, toss them out of the air-lock when you get the chance. Oh, except for Slipstream. Obviously.’ He turned his back on Thundercracker, returning to the Nemesis’ controls.

                Strika and Obsidian made way as Starscream passed them by. Strika pulled Obsidian aside and whispered in his audio-receptor. ‘So, uh, what do you make of all… _this?’_

                Obsidian sighed. ‘I think there’s a moral behind this story, Strika.’

                ‘And that is?’

                ‘Do not piss off Starscream.’

                Strika patted his shoulder in agreement and faced Sunstorm’s remains left rotting on the mountain’s peak. ‘Yeah. Poor Sunstorm. Poor, dumb, Sunstorm. Talk about figuring things out the hard way, eh?’

\-----

Where am I?

What happened?

I can barely remember other than—Starscream! He was there! In the Nemesis with—

And I remember everything. My death. Starscream. Skywarp. Everything.

I encounter a voice.

                “Hello.”

I only _think_ I can see them. Everything is so white that I’m not sure how to comprehend what I’m looking at.

                “You know what you’re looking at.”

Their voice is… I don’t know. Exciting? Fun?

                “Oh, why thank you.”

                “You can read my thoughts.”

                “Well, yeah.”

                “How?”

                “Is it that surprising? Where do you think you are?”

                “I—I don’t know. The afterlife?”

                “And what do you think I am?”

                “A… an angel?”

                “Of course! Do you understand what’s happened, Sunstorm?”

                “I died.”

                “You won! You succeeded! You’ve proven your worth, and made it to heaven!”

H—

                “Yes, Sunstorm. Congratulations, you have proven yourself as the chosen one, and here you are.”

I am overcome with emotion—I can’t even—

                “Unfortunately, heaven must wait.”

What?

                “Because you’re needed for something else. Something greater. Your mission is still in effect.”

                “I—“

                “Can I trust you to serve us? To fulfill your destiny?”

                I reply as if the question is the cause, and my answer is the effect.  “I will.”

                “Good. Then for now we must wait. There are still pieces of this puzzle in need of placement.”

I feel myself transform into this reserved state. A sort of hibernation. Before my spirit shuts down once more, I feel compelled to ask.

                “Who are you?”

Finally, I can see the person I am talking to. They don’t look like an angel. But their image fills me with a sense of relief. Their large, round, optics rotate with crimson light as they stare back at me.

                “I go by many names.” She tells me.

                “But you can call me Cog.”

 

 

 

               

 

 


	32. Rebel

                ‘Do you remember Earth, Prime? Of course you do.’

Megatron took a large, gallant, step across the invisible ground and gazed at the wide stretch of space that surrounded him. The warlord leaned gently back and took in the view. It was as if they were somewhere suspended in the center of an ocean. And perhaps—just perhaps—that’s exactly what it would feel like should they have been locked in a sea of stars such as this.

                ‘I remember it. It’s our failures that stay with us after all. Did you ever consider how we felt when we lost, Prime? The blow of disappointment that we suffered after all those years of grueling suspense and planning? I imagine you didn’t. Then again, you were quite empathetic towards our cause for a time.’ He turned his large, beastly head and locked eyes with Optimus. ‘I didn’t. Never did I bother to question how any of you felt. And that’s okay. Because I already know you just devoured yourself after what I did.’

Optimus woke up. Again, without a shred of panic.

                ‘Another dream.’ He whispered to himself. The big, red Autobot rolled over and ducked his head off the side of the slab in order to check underneath. Ironhide was no longer there—which would have been strange anyway, given how they now had an extra bunk for him despite continuing to spend his nights beneath Prime’s slab. Ironhide never was good at letting go of habits. Optimus casually slid off his slab and proceeded to do a few stretches. Satisfied, the Autobot Commander strolled down the halls, taking a moment’s time to find that Blackarachnia had, again, refrained from cleaning her cell, before stopping by the distillery to refuel on Energon. Carrying the steaming mug with him, Optimus entered what had now become the recreation room, where most of the devices Blackarachnia had snagged was displayed. In the center of the room was the massive television console, and in front of it was a wide, circular couch. The screen was alight with colours as Blackarachnia sat slumped over—tapping away at a controller between her claws. Ironhide stood adjacent to her, staring out a circular window.

                Optimus sat against the back of the couch, watching Blackarachnia play her video game. ‘Hello Blackarachnia. How are you planning to spend your day?’

                ‘Murder.’ She said, deadpanned.

                ‘That’s the spirit!’ Optimus said, patting her on the head before stepping away from the couch and towards Ironhide. ‘Hey, Ironhide. What are your plans this—‘

                ‘Get off my property.’ Ironhide grumbled.

                Optimus blinked. ‘Who are you talking to?’

                Ironhide slowly turned his head, his optics beady. _‘Everyone._ ’

                Optimus clapped his hands together and took a wide step back. ‘Very well then!’

Optimus stood quietly in the center of the room as his teammates resumed what they were doing. Sighing heavily, the Prime took a stance, and began doing a back and forth dialogue with himself.

                ‘Hey there Optimus!

                Why hello, Optimus!

                Gee, I hear there’s an engex machine just down the hall, you want to go check it out?

                Boy, do I? Is this engex as good as they say?

                Yeah, it’s made special for swell guys like us.

                Then what are we waiting for, let’s go!

                Sure thing pal!’

                ‘Why are you doing this?’ Blackarachnia leaned back until the nape of her neck draped over the back of the couch. She proceeded to stare at the Prime through upside down optics. ‘If you want our attention so bad, you can just ask. Better yet, if you need someone cooler to talk to, you can get on that whole “recruiting new members” thing you were so keen on.’

                Optimus lifted his hands apologetically. ‘You’re right. I was acting like a brat and… you’re right.’ He dropped his servos to his sides and let out a huff. ‘It’s just that there isn’t a lot of wiggle room when it comes to socializing with potential members. It’s not like we can ask around for well-oiled Cybertronians to give up everything just so they can be hunted down by the entire Cybertronian race. In fact I refuse to.’

                Ironhide turned his head to face Optimus. ‘What about Prowl? Would it be right to ask for his assistance, or is that a bad idea?’

                ‘It’s a bad idea.’ Optimus moved over to the circular, plexi-glass pane and pressed the tips of his fingers against the cold glass. ‘High Command called. They said it was to be decided that I would be free to do as I wished. They honestly said that…’

                ‘But?’ Ironhide questioned as he crossed his arms.

                ‘But Prowl isn’t one to follow public opinion. I received a call soon after from one of his agents. Someone who told me what he has planned.’

                ‘Whoa.’ Blackarachnia stood up, claws tightening. ‘Are you saying we’ve got an inside man at Autobot Command? Because there are only so many words in my vocabulary that can describe how badass that is.’

                Optimus shook his head. ‘Not really. He’s—well, it was Hubcap. Hubcap called, telling me what Prowl told him. He said that Prowl has sentries scouring the Galaxy—all under direct orders to put me into custody.’

                Blackarachnia hurdled over the couch. ‘For what?’

                ‘For my “safety”. I don’t know. Hubcap thinks it’s about control— and I can’t say I disagree.’

                ‘Well we certainly can’t go to _him_ then,’ Blackarachnia nodded thoughtfully. ‘After all, if they put you into custody then they’ll have to put _me_ into custody. I’m already in custody and I hate it. I can only survive so much custody.’ She paused. ‘That aside, why _do_ you hate Prowl so much?’

                Ironhide raised an open palm to the Decepticon. ‘Don’t.’

                ‘But—‘

                ‘Just don’t.’ He turned to Optimus. ‘Still, we’re going to need to up our numbers _some_ how. Three bots against nine-billion kind of puts us at a slight disadvantage.’

                ‘Just a slight one.’ Blackarachnia agreed.

                ‘I know.’ Optimus clenched his fists. ‘But advertising isn’t going to be easy, we don’t even know half of what we’re up against.’

                Blackarachnia shrugged. ‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt to find out.’

                Optimus narrowed his optics at the Decepticon. ‘I beg your pardon?’

\-----

The three found themselves huddled around a single computer console as Blackarachnia tapped against the holo-keys.

                ‘Quit clicking so fast. I can’t read what you’re typing.’ Ironhide grumbled.

                ‘Then get your lazy optics fixed.’ Blackarachnia retorted. ‘It’s not my fault your age hasn’t been keeping up with technology.’

                ‘Why you—‘

                ‘It would be very helpful if you told us how you plan on gathering the data-files on every Decepticon ever,’ Optimus quickly interrupted, ‘or so you described.’

                ‘Not every Decepticon. I mean I could, but I think we’d best focus on Starscream’s brigade for the moment, shall we?’

                Ironhide looked at Optimus and shrugged. ‘They _are_ our biggest problem.’

                ‘And how are you going to do that.’

                Blackarachnia smirked. ‘Well… I don’t know if you know this, but I happen to be an expert hacker. Take a step back if you will, things are about to get… amazing.’

>Search: http://www.autopedia.cyb/CON/Starscream_(AerospaceCommander)<

An article featuring the notorious air commander flashed onto the screen—accompanied by a flattering picture and all.

                ‘Wow!’ Ironhide was legitimately taken aback. ‘You actually did it! You actually hacked into the Decepticons’ files!’

                Optimus stared at the screen blankly. ‘Did you really just try to impress us with a google search?’

                ‘At least it didn’t take me this long to even _consider_ it.’

                ‘Y-yeah!’ Ironhide’s said, his tone voice taking a straight U-turn. ‘You think you’re so smart with all your fancy, smancy booble searches?!’

                Blackarachnia gawked at him. ‘Um… obviously?’

                ‘Focus, Autobots.’ Optimus Prime jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘Right here—we have everything we could ever hope to know about Starscream.’

                ‘Alright.’ Ironhide straigtened himself out. ‘Let’s see here…’

_The lustrous Starscream—a gift from the heavens known widely as one of the sleekest, sexiest beings in the galaxy. His fervent leadership and thought provoking insight has inspired thousands upon thousands to chant his name. Not only does his supple body provide a sense of elegance and beauty, but his thrusters hide within him a subtle sense of power that—_

                ‘Okay stop.’ Optimus said with both hands forward. ‘In case it’s not obvious enough, we now know that Starscream wrote his own Autopedia entry.’ He massaged the side of his head and let out a cold sigh. ‘You know anyone can edit those things as they please, right.’

                ‘Yeahyeahyeah, they’ve got mods who edit this kind of slag. Just let me pick apart the important stuff.’ She skimmed the article and nodded. ‘Okay. Starscream was war born. Early war born, mind you—as in Megatron had long since left the public gladiatorial sphere to follow his political career, and was now in the process of liberating the Polyhex prison complex with Grimlock and the bunch. Uhh… Starscream was born in Vos—back when it was one of Cybertron’s two major science capitals at the time and— Huh… That’s interesting.’

                ‘What?’

                ‘Starscream nearly died during spark-birth. He was built as one of four hundred seeker shells—created in the Jhiaxian academy to test the limits of space travel via alternate form. Unfortunately, there was a freak accident, and only three of them survived. One of them being Starscream. He acted as an exploratory researcher for a few centuries and eventually rose up to become head science officer. It wasn’t long after that he turn to politics and earn enough votes to become governor of Vos.’ Blackarachnia hummed as she read over the paragraph. ‘Strange, there are several allusions to a mentor figure of sorts, but they appear to have been omitted in an earlier draft. No matter. As this was happening, Megatron had already usurped Clench as Decepticon Military Leader, and was on the warpath towards conquest. Vos—being Cybertron’s science capital—didn’t put up too great of a fight and fell in—wow— two _hours._ Starscream was captured and presumed dead, but this later proved not to be the case as he was soon witnessed fighting alongside Megatron in the riots. He later rose up the ranks due to various accomplishments, including the assassination of the Senate, and the conquest of several solar systems thanks to his modified body-shell—which he in turn modified further for peak military efficiency. Everything you could expect pretty much follows.’

                ‘Well, that didn’t quite help,’ Optimus said, flatly. ‘And the brigade?’

                ‘Ah, yes. Oh! Thundercracker. Thundercracker was one of the three seekers who survived alongside Starscream way back when. He worked as a scientist, yadda yadda—though when captured, was forced to work for the Cons, furthering his career in science. He did some merc work on the side and was eventually drafted into the aerospace legion thanks to his relation to Starscream. That’s about it. Zero major accomplishments.’

                ‘What about—‘

                ‘The ones that matter? Got it right here: Slipstream designed maps for Destron trade-routes back in the day— worked her way into air force strategics, owned the Nemesis for a short time; now a vegetable. Strika on the other hand was born with a relative body shell to Megatron’s and is essentially his niece. Was made General very early on… and… huh. Turns out she won a lot of battles via very… _intense_ means.’

                ‘I imagine.’ Optimus sighed, abandoning the thought. ‘And Obsidian?’

                Blackarachnia returned to the console and frowned. ‘I can’t seem to find him.’

                ‘What do you mean?’ Ironhide asked.

                ‘He… doesn’t exist.’ She turned to the others, waiting for a response. When she got none, she chuckled. ‘Alright, you caught me, I’m just being dramatic. But seriously though, he’s got no Autopedia page.’ She resumed her scan. ‘There is a brief mention of him in Strika’s article as her “consort”—but otherwise nada. I presume he made a personal request to have the information removed from the public eye, but even then, you don’t go through all that trouble without having something to hide.’

                ‘You think it’s anything relevant to us?’ Ironhide asked, cupping his chin.

                ‘Doubt it. The worst thing a Decepticon has to hide are plans for a coup, but that’s none of our business.’ She tapped a claw against the side of her helm. ‘The guys a freak anyway, and looks older than the two of you combined. I know his kind well, he’s probably wringing his hands right now; plotting to overthrow Starscream—or Soundwave, or whoever’s really in charge.’

                Ironhide frowned, mumbling to himself. ‘We don’t combine…’

                ‘I appreciate the info, Blackarachnia.’ Optimus said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. ‘But even if we know who to fear, there are still many across the Galaxy who want my head… and gathering data on all of them will be impossible.’ He strode away from the two, puffing out his chest as he did. ‘We must be prepared for anything, for even now, we are at risk of attack at any minute—

 Loud crash reverberated from the Ark’s port, spiralling the ship into a sideways lurch.

                Optimus banged his head against the console, shattering the glass as his servo shot up to the point of collision. ‘That did _not_ take a minute.’ He looked up to find Ironhide and Blackarachnia recomposing themselves. ‘Let’s move to the bridge!’

                ‘Um… incoming transmission!’ Blackarachnia said as the cracked screen came to life.

The image formed into a face capped with a black and gold helmet. Pink light glowed from a thin visor as a wide grin formed across his lips. ‘This is Captain Cannonball. Requesting permission to sack your ship and drag you sorry sods out on your bellies. Your options are “Yes”, or “God, Yes.”’

                Optimus let out a groan. ‘I so don’t have time for this.’

\-----

                Kaon’s velvet halls came alight upon the immediate presence of the commander. It was a precautionary measure for the rows of stationed guards in case they were slacking off and didn’t want their commander to notice. Of course, Lord Soundwave would always know regardless. Not that it bothered him.

It wasn’t like before. Though Kaon was far more alive than it ever was, it was barely bustling with anyone of importance. Out of all the Bludgeons and Overlords that had long since disappeared or abandoned their cause to pursue their own agendas, the few Sixshots and Gutcrunchers that remained had now taken their first steps towards future leadership in their quests for Prime’s head. Even soldiers who beard of little consequence to him such as Thrust or Skywarp had crossed his mind on occasion, for even they had the potential to become as great as he was. The moment he stepped out, Squawkbox had taken his side, data-pad in hand. Squawkbox was initially hesitant to take the mantle of communications, but gradually fell into the swing of things as he came to recognize the power it granted him. Soundwave couldn’t blame him; he fell for its seduction early on as well.

                The officer bowed his head slightly as they walked. ‘Ah, Soundwave, just the mech I was looking for. Y’know, some of the guys downstairs have been talking—wondering what you _do_ in there all day. I mean, it’s your business so I don’t mean to interrupt. I just thought I’d let you know.’

                ‘Report.’

                ‘Ah, yes, well. So far little progress has been made in the search for Optimus Prime, as per usual. Starscream was the last to make contact with him, and with the Nemesis in his possession, all sources point toward him ending up on top.’ He paused for the sake of a reaction. ‘Which would be bad. Probably.’

                ‘Is that all?’

                ‘No. You see, on the upside it looks like we’re actually going to win the war.’

                Soundwave raised a brow at this statement, prompting Squawkbox to reiterate. ‘Okay, so we’re not _that_ close to winning, but we’re much better off than we ever had since the surge. That said, there isn’t much else to update you on the status of your generals. Yesterday, Sixshot and Abominus demolished Autobot Outpost Omega and ransacked the planet for supplies. This morning, Skystalker just witnessed a rebellion within his forces and effectively neutralized it. Not sure about Gutcruncher or Colossus though, they seem to be doing their own thing.’

                Soundwave made a silent nod as they continued down the corridor.

                ‘So uh, I take it we’re still sticking to the whole “wait and see” policy for this whole matter after all?’

                ‘Affirmative.’

                Squawkbox shrugged and faced forward. ‘O-kay. Still, and this is just a suggestion from a lowly grunt, but you’ve meddled with the outcome before, we could always—’

                ‘Always “what”, Squawkbox.’ Soundwave said. ‘Prevent Starscream from achieving Leadership fairly? I have considered it, but what would be the point? I intend to follow Megatron’s will to the very last letter, and if the content of that will allows a future for anyone, then so be it.’ He allowed himself to shrug. ‘Though you pose a fair point. There are still those who…’ Soundwave stopped where he stood and blinked behind his visor. ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me.’

                ‘What is it?’ Squawkbox panicked, unsure of how to react to his commander’s sudden turn.

                Soundwave spun around and locked eyes with the nearest guardsman. Swiftly, he pulled his concussion rifle from his belt, pointed it at the guard’s face, and unloaded a massive clip into his skull with a bang. The guard’s head exploded, and his body crumbled down the side wall, painting once silver metal with a trail of purple Energon as it pulsated wildly from the shock.

                The moment Soundwave took his stance, the four remaining guards whipped out their pistols and opened fire on the Decepticon Leader.

                Soundwave recited their names in his head. “Blastcharge, Smolder, Hooligan, Chopster and…” His screens glowed a bright cyan before letting out a blast of blue electromagnetic sound that reflected their firepower back at them. The laser and bullet fire homed in on the fifth guard, blowing their upper body into a pool of Energon. “...Doesn’t matter”.

                Hooligan barked orders at the other three from behind. ‘Come on, men! Focus your shots! Kill Soundwave!’

                Squawkbox ducked behind his larger commander, shaking uncontrollably. ‘What the hell is going on?!’

                Soundwave fell on all fours and activated the missile launcher on his shoulder. ‘IDIOTS!’ He fired a cluster of missiles that tore into Blastcharge’s chest, knocking him down on his back and under a cloud of smoke. ‘Did you really think you’d be able to catch _me_ by surprise? _Me?!_ I can read minds you imbeciles! _’_ He fired multiple shots from his concussion rifle as Smolder and Hooligan leaped out of the way.

                A set of hidden compartments sprang from Hooligan’s orange-plated chassis as a barrage of missiles erupted into the Decepticon Leader. ‘We’re taking you out of command, Soundwave. You aren’t worthy of it!’

                Soundwave blocked the missiles assault with one of his thick arms, absorbing much of the blast. ‘If that’s what it’s about then just kill Optimus Prime! I am handing leadership over to you on a silver platter and _this_ is how you react? By staging a coup?’ He thrust his arm forward, striking a huge fist through Hooligan’s midsection and out the other side. ‘Worthless, all of you.’

Panels shifted across Squawkbox’s arms as a pair of double-barreled blasters dropped into his servos. The comms officer fired wildly at Smolder, taking only a second’s time for his weapons to initiate cooldown.

                The dark red Decepticon recoiled badly before calling to his mini-con partner. ‘Chopster, Transform!’

                The smaller yellow Decepticon leaped up, transformed into a double sided axe and landed firmly in Smolder’s grip. As Squawkbox reloaded another round, Smolder lunged forward, slicing his blade into the officer’s mid-section. Squawkbox let out a scream as the blade tore out a gob of sticky wires and metal tubing.

                With Blastcharge regaining his composure, Soundwave neatly opened up his chest via mental command. ‘Laserbeak, eject!’ From his chest came a bright red and black condor-like Decepticon that dove at the larger tank Decepticon, unloading a barrage of bullet fire, and keeping him busy. In turn, Soundwave unleashed a tentacle which wrapped around Smolder’s leg, dragging him onto his stomach and away from Squawkbox’s convulsing body.

Smolder swung his axe against Soundwave’s tentacle, forcing him to release. As the Decepticon returned to his feet, Soundwave swung the butt of his rifle across smolder’s face, cracking his head sideways and ripping shards of metal off his faceplate. Smolder quickly regained his balance and struck Chopster into Soundwave’s guarded servo, locking him into a defensive position.

                ‘I have a whole list of grudges, Soundwave.’ He released Chopster from the newly carved scar in Soundwave’s lower arm and began thrashing. ‘And you’re right at the top! Remember that time you forced me into taking the fall for you back at Tyger Pax? You threatened to tell Megatron about my little “grudge problem” if I didn’t take the fall for you. “One punishment over another”, you called it.’ He slammed the side of his axe across Soundwave’s face, shattering his visor. ‘But Megatron’s not alive anymore—so I’ve got nothing to fear from you.’ Smolder twisted the blade, obviously pleased with himself. ‘The minute you’re taken out of power, you’ll be back to pulling your little strings. Well no more, I say. I say you get your just desserts here and—‘

                Squawkbox’s body shook before splitting in half through his center. Either part shifted and transformed into a, cyan condor and a purple mechanical gorilla respectively. The condor latched it’s talons onto Smolder’s wrist and pulled the blade aside while the gorilla tackled him violently to the ground. Smolder tried to get up, but the Cassetticons attack was too much for him.

Soundwave cracked his neck into place as the gorilla—Beastbox plowed his fists through Smolder’s torso and tore out the garbled remains of his fuel pump. The beast let out a wild howl before returning to his assault. Un-phased, Soundwave strode casually past the violent beat down on Smolder’s end and made his way to the remaining guards. Blastcharge was on the ground, grunting lightly as Laserbeak pecked at an open hole in the traitor’s chest. Soundwave beckoned the bird-like Cassetticon to perch on his shoulder before activating his concussion rifle cracking open Blastcharge’s skull with a quick shot between the eyes. He stopped in front of Hooligan. The seeker moaned quietly as he gripped the open wound in his chest. Soundwave wrapped a large servo around Hooligan’s head and plucked him off of the ground.

                The Seeker tried to speak, only for his visor to crack open, revealing a ring of cyan irises. ‘You’re going to die, Soundwave. I know what you’ve been doing… what’s beneath Kaon. Now you’re going to kill me. After all, you can’t have me running around telling everyone what you do down there. So do it then. Kill me and fulfill your job.’

                Soundwave considered this for a moment before dropping the Decepticon on his face. ‘No.’

                The Decepticon leader listened as the door at the end of the hallway was blown open. Venom and Barrage flooded in, blasters at the ready.

                ‘Lord Soundwave!’ It was Ratbat who entered next, wings fluttering nervously. ‘What happened? I heard noises and—‘

                ‘There is no need to worry.’ Soundwave gestured to the fallen usurpers as Beastbox and Squawktalk recombined into their robot mode. ‘I have neutralized the threat.’

                Ratbat hovered in place, staring at Smolder’s leaking body as Barrage prodded it with the blunt of his rifle. ‘So I see…’ A clear look of disgust crossed the fuel-auditor’s lips. ‘Such a waste… what do we do with them?’

                ‘Take them to the prison wards. I’ll have Laserbeak “look after them” from there.’

                Ratbat nodded to Venom and Barrage as they scooped up the survivors. A grin crept across Chop Shop’s faceplate as he inspected the dead. Ratbat, however, was not nearly as enthused. ‘Any idea what they were after?’

                But Soundwave wouldn’t answer, he instead turned to Squawkbox. ‘I was going to say—before we were interrupted.’

Squawkbox was about as surprised as Ratbat to find Soundwave re-treading their last conversation. He merely nodded.

                ‘I was going to say: There are some Decepticons in this universe… there are some that I cannot allow to participate in this contest. Decepticons that would undo what Megatron has sought to accomplish.’ He shook his head. ‘This universe—this universe is filled with—.’

                ‘Filled with what?’ Squawkbox managed to ask.

                Soundwave lowered his head. _‘Maniacs.’_


	33. Thundercracker's fix

                Skywarp let out a weak laugh from his horizontal cryo-chamber. It was clear the Seeker was still in the healing process, but that alone raised Thundercracker’s spirits. It was a gift just to see him conscious—even if only for a minute. ‘Is it bad that I don’t really trust you to fix me up?’ Skywarp said, mostly joking.

                Thundercracker tilted his head and allowed himself to half-smile. ‘Oh, I don’t blame you, I never was the best at medicine.’

_I was never even a medic to begin with._ Thundercracker thought. Though he was sure Skywarp was already aware of the fact, he thought it best to leave it out for the sake of his patient’s comfort. He patted a servo against the cryo-tube’s outer shell.  ‘Still, all it really takes is knowing how to work the equipment to get the job done,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Unfortunately, powering them is a massive waste of Energon, but on the bright side our superiors are loaded, so finances shouldn’t be a problem.’

                Skywarp laughed soberly. While it seemed genuine, his optics remained fixated in place. They reminded Thundercracker of optics belonging to a dead mech. ‘’Cept for Screamer, apparently. I heard you found him living in a box.’

                ‘I take it Strika told you?’ He chuckled. ‘Yeah, I almost felt sorry for him,’ he considered this for a moment. ‘Almost.’

                Skywarp leaned his head back and let out a sigh. ‘God I wish I was there. I would’ve been like: “Yo, Starscream, what’s with the box? Preparing for a _boxing_ match… or something.” He shook his head, unable to think of anything remotely humorous regarding it. ‘Would’ve been hilarious to see it in person.’

                ‘It was,’ Thundercracker said, his voice going flat.

There was a momentary silence between them. It wouldn’t be long before Skywarp would be plunged back into stasis.

                ‘Skywarp,’ Thundercracker began, ‘when you were in stasis, did you—?’

                The black seeker tilted his head to the side. ‘Did I…?’

                Thundercracker could still hear Skywarp’s screams. Back on Talon IV— as if the purple and black Seeker were re-experiencing some sort of elaborate torture. Something happened to him, Thundercracker knew for a fact. Whether Skywarp was aware of this and had been keeping secrets was another thing altogether. In fact, Thundercracker was almost certain Skywarp was hiding something. Skywarp never had those dead-set eyes before his disappearance. At the same time, Thundercracker was a coward. Even if Skywarp _was_ hiding something, he didn’t want to know. He shook his head, and metaphorically buried it in the sand. ‘Nothing, forget I said anything.’ He leaned over and placed a servo on the pod’s control panel. ‘You get some rest, alright? You’ll start bleeding again if you stay online for much longer.’

                Skywarp rolled his optics as the cylinder closed off around him. ‘Yes _mom.’_

                ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Thundercracker said as Skywarp’s face relaxed into stasis lock, ‘we don’t have a mom.’

With his friend silenced, Thundercracker turned to his second “patient”. Slipstream sat on an adjacent slab. Her face was moderately repaired, though a thick string of oil was noticeably drooling from her mouth. She was upright, though her arms were slacked off at her waist and her head was tilted off limply to the side like she were some broken marionette.

                Thundercracker rubbed his hands together as he monitored her life-signs. ‘Well, at least you _seem_ normal.’ He sighed. ‘Your face is going to need some work, but it shouldn’t prevent you from talking. Can’t say I know what the problem is there.’ He reached over to his tool-bench and plucked up a blow-torch. Setting the tip aflame, the Seeker carefully set the blaze near Slipstream’s unrecognizable facial structure—careful not to singe anything important. He pulled it aside and let out a groan. ‘Oh, what the hell—I don’t know how to reconstruct a faceplate!’

                ‘Then what good are you?’

                Thundercracker nearly dropped his blow-torch. Standing in the doorway was Strika: arms folded and just as big as she ever was.

                ‘Strika?’ Thundercracker tossed his blow-torch aside and approached the giant. ‘You nearly gave me a spark-core malfunction. What are you doing here?’

She let out a gruff sigh and tossed her thumb over her shoulder. ‘His majesty: Starscream sent me to drag you back to the main bridge for a meeting,’ she shook her head in disgust. ‘Can you believe that? I - Admiral Strika: former Leader of Team Chaar; Arch General of the Decepticon Armada – am being used as a call girl for Starscream? _Starscream!?’_

                _‘Okay.’_ Thundercracker said, trying to calm her down. ‘Nobody likes the guy, we can agree on that. Everybody here _hates_ Starscream. Just think of all the promotions we’ll get once he takes over.’ It didn’t really appeal to Thundercracker, personally, but perhaps Strika would have found interest in the inevitability of power.

                ‘I don’t _want_ him to take over!’ Strika spat, body expanding as she panted. She went still as she realized what she was saying. ‘I mean, I want us to win. I just…’ Strika quickly faced away and began observing Slipstream’s broken state. ‘How’s the repairing process coming along?’

                Thundercracker shrugged. ‘About as well as it’s going to be. I’ll probably have to pry a new face from another seeker as a replacement.’ He checked Strika’s expression for a look of disgust, or bafflement, but found none. It was sometimes easy to forget about the Admiral’s violent reputation. Faceless corpses were apparently of no concern to her. ‘I know I asked this already, but why _are_ you here?’ Thundercracker was careful not to press any nerves. ‘For me it’s a fulfilment kind of thing. Seeker’s honour and all that—whatever. But you don’t seem to actually want Starscream in charge so much as you want to get this whole ordeal over with.’ He couldn’t disagree.

                ‘I don’t know,’ Strika said, straight faced. ‘Obsidian thought siding with Starscream would be for the best, and I go where Obsidian goes.’ She raised an open palm to the blue Seeker. ‘I hope that doesn’t sound like he governs my every action or anything, because he doesn’t. If anything it’s the other way around. I just happen trust him and… because we….’ She quickly shook her head. ‘Obsidian said Starscream was the best Seeker there is, and who better to “seek” a Prime than a Seeker? I agreed, so that’s what we’re doing.’ She squinted. ‘But now that you mention it, I’m not entirely sure why Obsidian is so okay with Starscream taking over. Either he expects a revolt moments after his rise to power, or he has something planned that he just isn’t telling me.’ She shrugged. ‘Which I have no issues with. We all have secrets, and if Obsidian wants to keep his to himself then so be it. Starscream deserves whatever’s coming to him either way.’

                Thundercracker frowned. ‘You think he might end up betraying Starscream?’

                She took a step closer to the Seeker. Her massive figure casting a long shadow that eclipsed Thundercracker from head to toe. ‘Does that bother you?’

                ‘Of course not,’ Thundercracker spat. ‘As long as it doesn’t affect me in any way, Obsidian can do whatever the hell he likes.’

                Strika took a step back. ‘Good. Just checking, I can never tell with you Seekers,’ she sighed, staring at Slipstream. ‘I doubt he’s doing anything of that matter. We’re loyal to Megatron. i.e.: whoever happens to be in power – it’s our appeal – and if Starscream comes to power, then whatever. We haven’t betrayed anyone yet, and I doubt we’re going to start now. If anyone is going to do any betraying, it’s Slipstream—and she doesn’t look like she can even talk at the moment.’

                ‘True.’ Thundercracker frowned as he examined Slipstream’s throat. ‘I’m not sure why she can’t. Everything seems to be in place.’ He made a gesture towards her posture. ‘See, she’s sitting up, so I know she’s conscious—she’s just not talking.’

                Strika brought a digit to her chin and began massaging it thoughtfully. She let out a hum. ‘Maybe I can help.’

                Thundercracker blinked hopefully. ‘Really? _You_ know how to repair a split brain module?’

                ‘No.’ Instead, Strika raised her fist above her head before striking it down upon Slipstream’s head. As soon as she made contact, Slipstream’s mouth hung open and a high-pitched, single toned air-horn-like noise drawled out. The ear-splitting sound prolonged enough for Thundercracker and Strika to cover their audio receptors and groan in unison. After a few seconds, the screeching noise died down before disappearing altogether. Her mouth remained hanging open.

                Strika slowly lifted her servos from the sides of her head. ‘That… did not sound good. Should we do some—‘

                ‘Shut up for a minute.’ Thundercracker’s servos remained pressed against the sides of his head. ‘It sounds like she’s going to blow again.’

                Slipstream’s voice began to slowly amplify as words began to for. ‘M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m- my name is Slipstream!’

                Thundercracker exchanged looks with Strika as Slipstream’s body swayed from side to side. ‘What?’

                ‘My name is Slipstream!’ she exclaimed again. ‘I was born in 6969—back when it was illegal for women to read and write, and all the men made fun of the year’s sequential numbers.’

                ‘What the hell is she talking about?’ Strika asked.

                 ‘My name is Slipstream!’ After forgetting what she was going to say, the Seeker stood up, and fell forward—face-planting onto the steel floor. Instead of trying to get up, Slipstream rolled around on the ground, her direction of travel changing with every roll due to her wings getting in the way.

                ‘That is too sad.’ Strika said, shaking her head. ‘Oh yeah,’ She turned to Thundercracker, remembering her reasoning for being there, ‘Starscream wants us on the bridge—like right now, or else he’s going to kill one of us. He says he wants Slipstream there too, and that we are to at least look “presentable.”’ She stared at the rolling Decepticon before patting Thundercracker on the back. ‘Good luck.’ The admiral did a 180 and walked out the door, leaving Thundercracker to clean up the mess sprawled across the floor.

                ‘Dammit.’ He quickly grabbed Slipstream by her shoulders and lifted her onto her feet. ‘“Presentable” she says… Alright, I can do this. So what if you’re faceless and spouting nonsense, I can still make you presentable.’

                ‘I’m no faceless! I don’t conform to your conformist, conspiracy conformity! See?’ She reached to her face as if to prove it, only to realize most of her face to be missing. ‘No… no! It can’t be— they—they’ve got me too! Damn it! Damn you! They took my faaaace!’ She shook her fist to the ceiling. ‘FAAAAAACCCEEE!’

                ‘Oh for the love of—!’ Thundercracker rapped his knuckled gently on her head. ‘I knew you’d be impaired after taking an axe through the brain, but this is just ridiculous!’

                ‘ _Your_ brain is ridiculous!’

                ‘Oh be quiet.’ He knocked against her head once again, this time harder.

When he did, Slipstream’s mouth hung back open, and the high pitched air-horn sounded once again.

                Thundercracker grabbed his audio receptors and let out a loud groan. ‘Oh God dammit!’

                His wrist communicator began to vibrate as the image of Starscream’s narrow face came to light. _‘Thundercracker, where the hell…! What the hell is that?’_

                Thundercracker tilted his head to the side as a futile attempt to over his bare audio receptor. ‘It’s Slipstream.’

_‘Are you—why is she doing that?’_

                ‘Like hell if I know.’

                _‘Did you try hitting her?’_

                ‘Yes, unfortunately. Twice.’

                _‘Well, you know what they say: third times the--.’_

‘Not when it comes to hitting people, Starscream, you don’t get whatever you want by repeatedly hitting people.’

                _‘_ You _don’t?’_

_‘_ You’re making me sound like I get off on beating people for pleasure. I don’t.’

                _‘Whatever, listen, if you and Slipstream are not here in five minutes, I’m going to kill one of you.’_ He hung up, before calling him once again seconds after. ‘ _But seriously, if hitting her doesn’t work then I hear you can just cut an incision above her vocal processor to—oh whatever, just get here already. I’ll kill you, seriously.’_

                ‘Hey, if you can just call me then why did you send Strika to—?’ But Starscream had already hung up. ‘Okay then.’ _What’s with Starscream and threatening to kill people?_ Thundercracker thought.

                Sighing, Thundercracker reached forward, and gently patted the palm of his hand against Slipstream’s forehead. When he did, Slipstream finally stopped.

                ‘There we go.’

                His brief sense of victory faltered as Slipstream’s skull split open through the middle. The halves of her head dropped to either side – only barely holding together by multiple small strands of wire.

                ‘That’s… not good.’

                Her vocal processor began blaring again.

                ‘Ahh, crap!’

                He checked his wrist-placed chronometer to find the amount of time he had already wasted in light of Starscream’s threat.

                ‘GOD DAMMIT!’

                As fast as he could, Thundercracker dashed to his work-table and grabbed a role of a large, duct-tape-like material. Ripping off a strand, the Seeker grabbed Slipstream by the head, and slapped the long piece of material across her helm. He started with her mouth, followed by the cracks rippling across her helm. After taking a step back, Thundercracker realized that he had practically covered her entire helm in silver tape, as if he were working on some bizarre project with paper mache. Though there were a few holes of exposed brain matter, Thundercracker thought he did a fine job.

                ‘Good enough,’ he said to the now-quiet Seeker. As he grabbed her to leave, he suddenly became aware of his own appearance. ‘Strika said I was supposed to be presentable as well.’ He turned to Slipstream. ‘So, what do you think? Do I look alright?’

                After a moment of muffled silence, Thundercracker shook his head and grabbed Slipstream by hers—dragging the wounded Seeker alongside him. ‘Never mind.’

                The pair made their way through the Nemesis’ winding hallways. Thundercracker had spent plenty of time on the Nemesis during his fair share of strike missions with Skywarp, but even then, it didn’t take long until it began to feel like they were walking in circles. After a while, Thundercracker lost complete track of where they were walking, and had to base his location off of the sound of distant voices.

                After following them for some time, Thundercracker managed to identify the voice as Obsidian’s. There didn’t seem to be another. Rounding a corner, he found himself approaching the Strategist’s quarters. Slipstream gripped one of her claws around his arm.

                ‘Of course…’ He heard Obsidian say. ‘We’re getting close. It’s why I picked Starscream after all.’

                Thundercracker peeked into Obsidian’s room, unsure of what he’d see when he did. At the back of the room was Obsidian, facing away and staring at a work-bench. A bright light was sparkling on the table as Obsidian’s servos moved. It was clear he was working on something.

                ‘…I’ll be seeing you soon. We’ll be seeing _him_ soon as well, won’t we? Oh yes…’ He let out a light chuckle as he continued his work. ‘Everything is going to change—and you must admit, that alone is very exciting.’

                ‘Obsidian,’ the moment Thundercracker spoke, the hovering Decepticon froze. ‘Did Strika not tell you? Starscream wants us to meet with him on the main bridge. Actually I assumed you were already there.’

                Obsidian slowly turned his head, his emerald optics blazing as he fixated on Thundercracker. He didn’t say a word.

                ‘Are you okay? You seem. – what’s the word – sketchy?’ He stepped on his tip-toes as a means of spotting the contents on the work-table ahead, but to no avail. ‘I didn’t know you were dabbled with science, what are you working on--?’

                ‘What did you see?’

                ‘What?’

                Obsidian transformed into his helicopter mode and dove at Thundercracker, tackling out of the room and onto the corridor floor. ‘What the hell did you see me do?!’ He transformed—first into his hovering robot-form, and then his spindly servo into a box-shaped blaster. He shoved the barrel against the space between Thundercracker’s optics. ‘Anyone who bears witness to my project _cannot_ be allowed to live.’

                ‘Obsidian, what the hell are you talking about? I just—‘

                ‘That was a colossal mistake, Thundercracker, A _tragic_ mistake—I would have even recommended some audio-dramas just to accommodate this very occasion,’ his blaster came alight, ‘but I’m afraid not. Instead, you picked an awful day to snoop around.’

                Thundercracker couldn’t think fast enough to properly react. ‘Why—‘

The sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the Nemesis, and was heard by all.


	34. The Innards

                Obsidian hovered backwards, venting and fuming in confusion. He lifted his blaster, only to find a smoldering mess of dead circuitry where it was moments ago. He craned his neck around to find Slipstream standing across from him. Null-ray pointed, and head slacked over at one side. Obsidian swallowed. ‘You’re armed?’

                ‘She’s armed?’ Thundercracker mirrored in disbelief, rising to his feet. After a moment’s notice, Thundercracker and Obsidian leaped on her, wrestling the null-ray from her grasp and quickly tossing it aside. Upon restraining her, the two mechs dropped to the ground, their backs pressed against the wall as they panted.

                Thundercracker and Obsidian exchanged looks of discomfort, only for the latter to turn away suddenly. ‘Look, I apologize for trying to kill you.’

                ‘Don’t mention it.’ _DO mention it,_ Thundercracker thought. The Seeker was furious, but he was not about to show it. Besides, why should he accept an apology only moments after being threatened? It was ridiculous how quickly Obsidian changed his disposition on the matter.

                Obsidian’s head drooped into an open servo. ‘It’s just—there are times when I am experimenting and, well, let’s just say that I tend to get overly sensitive about my work.’

                ‘No, really?’ Thundercracker spat. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

                He offered a handshake. ‘You do know I wasn’t actually going to pull the trigger on you, yes?’

                Thundercracker wasn’t ready to believe it, but took him up on his offer anyway. He wasn’t about to get on Obsidian’s bad side. ‘Forget it.’ The Seeker stood up, preparing to leave.

                ‘Wait!’ Obsidian elevated himself to Thundercracker’s height and extended a servo in his direction. ‘I can show you what I’m working on; if it makes any difference. It can be our secret.’

                Thundercracker’s teeth clenched. He took another step away from the tactician. ‘I really don’t feel like putting up with any more of your crap today, Obsidian. If you want to salvage some non-existent friendship between us, or whatever, then I would be very grateful if you left me be.’ He prepared to leave, but remembered one last thing. ‘Better yet, use that so-called genius mind of yours to realize that not all problems have to be solved by shooting people in the head! How does _that_ sound?’

                Obsidian’s body relaxed. ‘I see.’ He began following the seeker, hovering at his usual height. ‘I wasn’t aware you felt so strongly about… anything.’

                Thundercracker sighed. ‘I guess not all of us “ _grunts”_ live up to the stereotype.’

                The tactician’s servos clenched tightly. ‘Whatever.’

                 Thundercracker scanned the hallway, realizing that something was missing, something important. ‘Where’s Slipstream?’

                ‘I thought you were sitting on her.’ Obsidian replied, drawly.

                ‘No...’ He turned a corner, looking both ways. At the end of the corridor was a wide-opened door. ‘Oh, she’s in there. I’m going to need to keep a closer eye on her in the future.’ He beckoned Obsidian to follow. ‘C’mon, let’s grab her and get to Starscream before he – quote-and-quote – kills us.’

                ‘Very well.’

                The two hovered towards the door, and peered into the room. Nothing but blackness laid before them.

                ‘Come now, Slipstream.’ Obsidian said, a hint of impatience in his aged voice. ‘Let’s make this easier for both of us and report before our superiors get angry. You know how it is.’

                When he got no response, Obsidian lifted his blaster, only to remember he had lost it in the previous scuffle. He glared at Thundercracker instead. The Seeker complied and the two moved into the blackness.

                ‘I _am_ loyal to the Decepticon cause—you do know that, right?’

                Thundercracker refused to respond.

                ‘I just wanted to make that clear to you.’

                Suddenly, everything was alight. A bright blue sky shone overhead as fields of green grass stretched out around them. Birds flew from their nests in trees, and soared overhead, minding the newly found presence of the two Decepticons standing dumbfounded in the ill-fitted scenery.

                Obsidian stared at the bright yellow sun overhead and squinted before turning back to Thundercracker. ‘Where the hell are we?’

                Thundercracker was just as puzzled. He turned around to find the doorway still visible; an invisible outline surrounding the corridor they had exited out of moments before. He turned back to Obsidian. ‘Not a fragging clue.’ He activated his null-ray and proceeded through the grassland cautiously.

                ‘And just where do you think you’re going?’

                ‘If you have any other weaponry on you, I’d advise you activate it now.’

                ‘Very well.’ Obsidian transformed into his dual-rotor helicopter form and printing a thin red laser against Thundercracker’s back.

                Realizing what was happening, Thundercracker raised his hands above his head in surrender. ‘Still want to kill me then?’

                ‘Not yet.’ Obsidian said, his vehicular missiles begging to be let loose. ‘This is only a threat. I respect you, Thundercracker. You are a thinker. However, you have done a lot to piss me off today.’ The aimed laser dissipated. ‘I am your superior, never forget that. When Starscream is absent, you will answer to me. Is that understood, soldier?’

                ‘O-kay!’ Thundercracker’s servos dropped as he turned to face the helicopter. ‘Or “yessir”. Just… relax, I’ll explain everything I know about…’ he gestured to the world around him, ‘this.’

                ‘Mm.’ Obsidian slowly began to elevate from the ground. ‘Then report. What do you know of this place? Come, you can explain it to me as we search.’

                Thundercracker nodded and transformed into his sleek, blue jet mode. In moments, the ground was torched as the pair of Decepticons shot into the sky, surveying the green landscape.

                ‘You know what sparks are made of, right?’ Thundercracker explained. ‘The scientific method of creation stems from Vector Sigma. It worked by absorbing the—‘

                ‘Higgs particles surrounding Cybertron and converting it into energy fit to spawn a hot-spot,’ Obsidian finished. ‘I am much older than you, Thundercracker. I know how Vector Sigma worked.’

                ‘Of course,’ Thundercracker continued. ‘Higgs particles—known as Galactic Fluid by some, is known for causing problematic fluctuations in reality because of its ability to create mass. It’s the scientific explanation for spontaneous wormholes and swarms of thought-clouds. Since sparks are made of small amounts of the stuff, there aren’t quite as many problematic scenarios that could occur. But for a much larger spark—‘

                ‘Ahh.’ Obsidian understood. ‘I see.’

                ‘Exactly. The Nemesis is built with the largest spark in history as its power source. The Nemesis is alive. He’s—‘

                ‘Trypticon.’ Obsidian finished once again. ‘The Nemesis is Trypticon. _Everyone_ knows the Nemesis is Trypticon.’

                ‘And a spark of his size, well, sometimes when he’s feeling excited – when he feels like reminiscing about the war – he lets a few wormholes slip between dimensions in his innards. Think about it, Obsidian. This ship houses infinite possibilities—infinite absurdities.’

                ‘Fascinating.’

                The sound of yelling began to echo as they reached a clearing. Ahead of them were at least a hundred medieval-styled aliens, partnered with horse-like creatures that took their sides. A purple skinned and emerald armored ring-leader stood in the center of the field. Stone-built castles could be seen in the distance, telling Thundercracker that they were even more primitive than the humans of earth.

                ‘Let thou bear witness to the coming of the thirtieth holiest joust! Truly, the holiest of jousts!’

                The crowd let out a huzzah as their direction turned to the pair of tents at either end of the clearing.

                ‘Now, enter: Harvesto! With his glorious steed!’

                The tent collapsed, and blew away as a purple lanced alien entered riding Slipstream’s jet-form.

                Harvesto raised his lance and howled. ‘My steed is the greatest steed because it’s not EVEN a steed at all! It’s more like a very big bird—crossed between an oven!’

                ‘I am oven bird!’ Slipstream howled back. ‘Prepare for deliciously baked bird-crap!’

                Obsidian dove towards the party with Thundercracker in tow. ‘Grab Slipstream, I’ll take care of the inhabitants.’

                ‘They’re harmless. We won’t have to move a muscle.’

                ‘Perhaps not.’ Obsidian transformed. ‘But it would do me good to finally blow off some steam.’

                ‘Obsidian—!’

                The helicopter’s chest opened, and a barrage of missiles exploded outward at the inhabitants below. The explosions ripped apart the ground. There was no blood or carnage. Not even bones. The smaller inhabitants were reduced to ash, flashing out of existence in an instant.

                Thundercracker used this time to reach for Slipstream

                Slipstream’s jet-mode wobbled from side to side. ‘I know it looks like a squishy is riding me—but I want to make it known that I do not get hot and heavy with squishies. I want that in quotation marks: “Slipstream does not get hot and heavy with squishies.”’

                ‘I am no squishy!’ Harvesto raised his lance, poking it at the Seeker futilely. ‘Repent, metal scum!’

                ‘Pfft.’ Thundercracker slapped the lance out of Harvesto’s hand. ‘Look at you. Your species can’t even achieve flight yet—and you think you can harm _me?_ ’ He wrapped a metal hand around Harvesto’s body and lifted him off of Slipstream, raising him high above his head. ‘Your species is so inferior it makes me sick.’ Quickly, he checked his six to make sure Obsidian wasn’t watching, and gently placed him on the ground. ‘Now run. You aren’t worth a glance from us, but my “friend” over there might not make the same distinction.’

                Harvesto blinked, and immediately did as he was told, running towards the collapsed tent and ducking into it. As soon as he was out of site, Thundercracker banged his fist against Slipstream’s cockpit, and the Seeker immediately transformed onto her back— arms spread out as if she were making a snow angel.

                ‘Hi.’

                ‘Get up.’ Thundercracker ordered, and Slipstream did just that.

                ‘Disgusting.’ Obsidian spat as he hovered over between them. ‘They actually thought they had a chance.’ He nodded at Slipstream. ‘Let us return to the Nemesis.’

                ‘Yo, Obsidian.’ Slipstream said. Her expression unreadable due to the scars across her face. ‘Do you like elves?’

                The helicopter’s brow furrowed. ‘What? I don’t even know how to respond to that. Why?’

                ‘Because I bet your favourite Lord of the Rings character is Legolas.’ She cackled to herself, dropping to the ground and rolling around in the process.

                Thundercracker pondered this for a moment, and nodded. ‘Ah, I get it. Legolas. Leg-less.’ He pointed at Obsidian’s “tail”, ‘Because you have no…’

                The strategist glared at him through blazing green optics, as if he were perfectly willing to crush the Seeker’s head at that very moment.

                ‘…Legs— never mind.’ Thundercracker transformed into his jet mode, prompting Slipstream and Obsidian to do the same. In the sky, the trio approached another outline of a door, leading into a room with painted purple walls.

                ‘Not the same one we exited from.’

                ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Thundercracker said. ‘It’s the Nemesis.’

                Flying through, the three entered the Nemesis once again, this time in a large oval chamber. Obsidian was the first to transform, hovering in the center wryly. ‘I’ve never been in this area of the ship before.’ He turned around as Thundercracker and Slipstream transformed behind him. ‘Where are we now?’

                ‘Not where you should be.’

                Obsidian and Thundercracker craned their necks to find a fourth robot in the room. Sitting cross-legged on the floor was a black and blue robot. Face-plated and small. He was about the size of an Autobot-classified mini-bot.

                ‘It’s been a while since anyone teleported into my quarters.’ The small robot stood. ‘What do you want?’

                Obsidian considered raising his gun, but Thundercracker motioned him to drop his guard. ‘We’re Decepticons, like you. We are the current occupants of this ship.’

                ‘Oh.’ The robot sat down once again. ‘Are you here to introduce yourselves? Or did you just take a wrong turn.’

                ‘The latter.’ Obsidian explained. ‘Does Starscream know you’re on board?’

                Despite having a visor and faceplate, the Decepticon somehow managed to grin. ‘So it’s Starscream that’s in charge this time? I see.’ He sighed. ‘My name is Full-Tilt. I am Trypticon’s caretaker/the Nemesis’ Janitor. And you’re awfully close to his spark chamber.’

                Obsidian stared at the metallic floor. He couldn’t feel it, but from the looks of Thundercracker and Slipstream, there were vibrations running through the room. ‘I see.’ He nodded subtly and hovered towards the exit. ‘It has been a pleasure, Full-Tilt.’

                The Decepticon chuckled. ‘Don’t mind me. It’ll be some time before _I_ feel pleasure again.’

                Naturally, one would just right it off as an odd turn of phrase. But Obsidian thought different. He stopped, and rotated himself 180 degrees. ‘I beg your pardon?’

                Full-Tilt laughed harder. ‘Sorry if that sounded vulgar. It’s been a while since I talked with anyone other than old-Trypty here.’

                Obsidian approached the smaller Decepticon. His servos clenched. ‘ _Why,_ exactly, will you be without pleasure?’

                ‘Let’s go, Obsidian.’ Thundercracker said, trying to keep Slipstream from gnawing on the door-frame. ‘I don’t like this guy.’

                He raised an open servo to the Seeker. ‘Just a moment—I want to hear this.’

                ‘It will be some time before the Nemesis belongs to its rightful owner.’ Full-Tilt said with a sick growl. ‘Starscream, Megatron, Shockwave, Soundwave… they all have and will pilot the Nemesis. But none of them have, or will, be worthy of it. You see, being inside Trypticon for this long changes the way one perceives things. Travelling through these wormholes altered not only my sense of space, but of time as well.’

                The janitor pointed at the ceiling. Obsidian hadn’t recognized it before, but it was covered with an array of open doors, each revealing different fluctuations of time and space. ‘Look.’ Full-Tilt said, pointing at one door in particular. ‘It’s your boss.’

                It was indeed Starscream, but not the one they knew. His design looked as though it were stripped of all extravagances, like he were a new shell. He was holding a vial, and examining its contents with extreme scrutiny.

                There was another door, featuring an alternate reality—one where Obsidian was a salesman of some kind. At the bottom, there was a bumper: “Do you like legs! Do you like walking! Then come on down to Obsidian’s leg-emporium, where the legs are free and the walking is tax!”

                Obsidian quickly elevated himself to the ceiling and shut the door, only for another to open. It was Starscream again. He was in a body closer to his current one, albeit his wings appeared to have been ripped off, and he was no longer the only one present. Megatron was there, his fists covered in mech-fluid. Starscream’s mech-fluid. Megatron was beating Starscream to a pulp. They were alone in a cramped room together, with nothing else around them. No examples to make. Megatron just stood there, looming over Starscream as he plowed his fists into the Seeker’s face—ripping out chunks of wiring and facial structure as he did so, over, and over again. Starscream laid there on the ground, shivering and slobbering as he took his beating without resistance. Obsidian couldn’t imagine a reason for it. For as despicable as Starscream was, he couldn’t imagine a single scenario where Megatron would have to administer such a savage beat down. There was no holding back, Megatron looked as though he were going to kill the Seeker. So was this an alternate reality? Obsidian wondered, or did Starscream really—He abandoned the thought, and returned to the others; ignoring the other doors’ depictions of Strika bench-pressing him and an alternate-Starscream and Soundwave trying to capture Optimus with a lasso. He descended before Full-Tilt, listening, and waiting for him to speak.

                ‘I know the future,’ Full-Tilt finally said, staring at his lap, ‘and it begins with a new captain.’

                ‘You don’t mean—?’ Obsidian bit his tongue, afraid to say the name in front of Thundercracker and Slipstream.

                ‘Possibly. Only one can relieve Trypticon from his shell, and in doing so, will become his eternal captain.’ He looked back up at Obsidian. ‘The galaxy must fall united under a single ruler, you see. And maybe you have an idea of who I’m talking about—but the future is constantly changing. Constantly revising and second guessing itself… and I can’t afford to say anything that might divert the current, fragile path it’s chosen to balance on.’

                Obsidian stared at the janitor for what felt like minutes before finally nodding. ‘I understand.’ He hovered back around and exited the room, followed by Thundercracker and Slipstream. As he turned around once more to nod a goodbye to Full-Tilt, he found himself instead staring at a blank wall. There wasn’t a trace of Full-Tilt’s existence, nor any record of the three ever meeting the supposed caretaker.

                ‘It looks like we’re back where we started.’ Thundercracker said, staring down the long, violet corridor. ‘Back before we entered that stupid door. Come on, it’s about time we got back to Starscream.’ Slipstream wobbled along slowly from behind as Obsidian took his side.

                ‘I killed twenty of those aliens at best.’ Obsidian said as if he were filing a report.

                ‘Good for you.’

                ‘I stopped as soon as they realized their efforts were futile and escaped. Any more would have been a waste. I’m sorry, I know you’re not happy about the Decepticon’s history of needless bloodshed – and in a way I agree – but I did what was necessary to ensure a quick escape.’

                Thundercracker tilted his head to the side. ‘Thanks.’ The words reverberated with dishonesty. 

                Slipstream looked between the two with her unreadably damaged face and cackled. ‘You two should bang now.’

                Thundercracker and Obsidian stared at each other and back to the brain-damaged Seeker.

                ‘Where is she getting all of this… alien dialect?’ Obsidian asked.

                ‘It’s earth stuff, mostly.’ Thundercracker said. ‘It seems all I ever hear about these days is slang from that planet.’

                ‘Indeed,’ Obsidian said. ‘It was an advanced planet, though I still don’t see what was so good about it. What were its strengths, for example?’

                ‘Blowing up.’ Slipstream said, playfully.

                Thundercracker raised a servo to his face. ‘Wow.’

                Obsidian shook his head in disgust. ‘I wasn’t there, and even I know that was too soon,’ he turned to Thundercracker. ‘Still, while I respect their ingenuity and art-forms, I feel as though the skills of their species have been blown out of proportion.’

                ‘You could say _Earth_ was BLOWN out of proportion!’ Slipstream exclaimed.

                Thundercracker’s head fell back. ‘Come on!’

                Obsidian allowed himself to chuckle. ‘Alright, I understand your point, Slipstream, but do note that Cybertron isn’t what you’d call “better off.”’ His facial muscles relaxed as he turned to Thundercracker. ‘But I meant what I said. I do not _enjoy_ destroying weaker organics for the sake of it, nor do I find a point in doing so. We simply do what we must, but if it is any consideration, I do not expect there will be any more inferior species antagonizing us in the near future.’

                As he said this, a door popped into existence, and Strika leaped out of it. The sounds of screaming and gunfire could be heard behind her as it faded away once again. The massive, tank-like Decepticon was drenched in multi-coloured organic fluids and muscle-matter. Her face was coloured with dark excitement.

                ‘You guys wouldn’t _believe_ where I just was!’

                Obsidian looked back at Thundercracker. ‘Starting now.’

                Thundercracker merely shook his head and continued down the hallway. ‘I hate you all.’

                The four Decepticons continued down the hall as Obsidian and Strika shared details on their displacements across the galaxy. Thundercracker felt a sense of pride, both with the knowledge that – as they were all walking together – Starscream would not be able to punish all four of his soldiers, and that out of the group, he had to have been the least war-like. Still, Obsidian appeared sane, but he knew whatever he was cooking up was going to bite him in the aft eventually.

                They arrived at the bridge, only to find it devoid of anything containing a “Star” or a “Scream”.

                Obsidian began hovering around the wide-open room. ‘He told us he’d be here.’

                ‘And here I am.’ Starscream hovered from the ceiling before landing at his makeshift desk in the center.  For whatever reason, he had been wearing a large, black afro over his helmet. ‘You’re all awful for making me wait, you know that, right?’ He laughed as he propped himself on top of his desk. ‘Of course, I got a little sidetracked along the way as well.’ He quickly ripped off the afro as he said this. ‘The place is a maze across dimensions.’ Finally, the aerospace commander recognized the burns and organic matter marking the four Decepticons under his command. ‘The hell happened to you guys?’

                ‘Some wrong turns.’ Obsidian said bluntly before bowing briefly. ‘Now what do you want?’

                Thundercracker took note of the fact that Obsidian failed to mention Full-Tilt, but ultimately decided to keep it to himself.

                Starscream grinned. ‘I finally figured out how we’re going to catch Optimus Prime.’ He activated a hologram from his wrist communicator. ‘To start, it involves stealing from one of the deadliest Decepticons in the universe.’

 

 

 


	35. Counterattack

                Cannonball stood atop his ship: _The Tidal Wave,_ and stared at the golden Ark that hovered below him. His ultimatum was thoroughly ignored by the resident Prime, but he had already expected as much. He turned to his subordinates, Brimstone and Axer. They respected him, unlike the _last_ Cannonball. At least he liked to think so. Ever since Deadlock turned to the Autobots and Snaptrap splintered off with his Seacons, the Star Seekers had been waiting for a proper commander, and that senile fool, Thundertron was far from their first choice. Of course, neither was Cannonball. He snapped his fingers, and the large, pteranodon-like Decepticon leaped from his shoulder, transformed into a thin robot, and landed briskly on his feet. ‘Brimstone, you’ll manage the ship while we carry out our assault. Axer, you’re with me. Pounce, Wingspan—where are those—?’

                The two identical Decepticons dropped down in front of him from the upper deck. The only indications as to which was which was presented in their body-language. They watched Cannonball, awaiting their orders.

                Cannonball blinked, and put on his signature grin. ‘Ah, there you are. The two of you will manage our main assault. Get down there and cause as much damage as you can while the bounty hunter and I plant our little surprise.’

                ‘Understood, we’ll get right to it.’ Wingspan replied. Pounce let out a grunt. The more talkative of the two tilted his head to the side. ‘“Surprise?”’

                ‘He _means_ a bomb.’ Axer said, twirling a small detonation device between his fingers. ‘The Captain and I are going to magnetize our way under there and set some charges while the two of you pose as a distraction.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’

                Cannonball smiled at the hired bounty hunter. ‘Eloquently put, my bountiful friend.’

                ‘Bountifu—?’

                He turned to the others. ‘Now then, if we’re all clear on how my master plan is going to go down, then lads, let’s get to work!’ He clapped his hands, and the four pirates transformed, leaving Brimstone to continue the Tidal Wave’s assault.

\-----

                Optimus activated his axe and sprinted towards the main-deck and onto the hull. Ironhide and Blackarachnia trailed closely behind, activating their own weaponry in anticipation.  The Ark began to quake as it sustained heavy fire. It in turn responded with fire from its automatic guns. ‘Faster, Autobots. We’ve dealt with pirates before, we can deal with pirates again.’

                ‘We had Rodimus to back us up last time,’ Blackarachnia reminded him.

                ‘I’m _trying_ to be optimistic here,’ Optimus stressed. ‘It comes with the name.’

                ‘Just saying… we might have to be careful this… wait,’ she squinted at her commander. ‘ _That’s_ why you’re called “Optimus?” Because it sounds _kind of_ like “Optimist?” ’

                The Prime groaned. ‘We’re under attack and could die at any minute and you’re starting this _now?_ ’

                ‘Alright, I’m sorry. Back to what I was saying, we _might_ want to be careful this time.’

                Optimus turned his head to face the former Decepticon. ‘I’m _always_ careful, Blackarachnia.’

                Ironhide tapped at his wrist console. ‘Prime! The Ark’s computer just detected a disturbance somewhere around the lower decks, want me to get down there and deliver the ol’ Ironhide smack-down?’

                ‘No, I need you on the ship to provide the ol’ Ironhide counterattack against their main assault.’ He turned around back to Blackarachnia. ‘You know what to do, get under the Ark and figure out what’s going on down there.’

                Blackarachnia saluted before breaking off from the two and heading down an alternate hallway. She looked back for a split second, and raised her brow. ‘You’re trusting me to—I mean, aye-aye, Opti—er… sir.’

                Optimus turned to weapons specialist. ‘Let’s go, Ironhide. We just need to hold them off long enough for the Ark’s quantum engines to boot. Then we can warp out of here without having to worry about another pirate ever again.’

                ‘The two of us against a ship-load of pirates. Sounds simple enough.’

                ‘Yeah... simple. Just like old times, huh?’

                ‘ _Exactly_ like old times.’

\-----

                Cannonball approached the ship’s center-most point with Axer. The bounty hunter was trailing close behind. ‘How’re the magna Clamps?’

                ‘They’re alright,’ Axer shrugged. ‘This isn’t my first time using them. You wouldn’t believe how many bounties require walking on ceilings.’

                ‘I’d believe it if you said your bounties required you to walk on the _sun_.’ Reaching the point, Cannonball knelt down and extended a servo towards Axer. ‘Welp, this is it. Pass me the “surprise.”’

                Axer picked the box-like device out from his belt and handed it to Cannonball. ‘Got it. Here’s the “surprise.”’

                Cannonball nodded and accepted it. ‘Thank you for the “surprise.”’

                The two stared at each other for a moment, and Axer let out a sigh. ‘What the hell are we doing?’

                ‘No idea.’

                'Cannonball prepared the bomb, only for the panel beneath him to blow open. The panel smacked Cannonball in the face, nearly knocking him off of his magna clamps.

                Blackarachnia’s head poked out from the newly formed hole, staring at the pirate captain through four emerald optics. ‘Surprise!’

                As Cannonball recoiled, Blackarachnia slithered out from the Ark and thrusted a stalk in Cannonball’s direction, slicing a large gash across his large mid-section and causing an immediate leakage. Axer activated his pistol and fired four quick shots at the spider. The shots grazed Blackarachnia’s frame, leaving scars and burns across her torso, but did not stop her. Grabbing the wound, Blackarachnia shot forward another stalk and destroyed Axer’s magna-clamp, sending his balance askew. The bounty hunter swore as he missed his next shot, unable to find his balance with half of his body pulling away from the ship. Taking the chance, Blackarachnia sliced her stalk and destroyed his other foot, sending the bounty hunter floating away from the Ark.

                ‘Slag! Slag! Slag!’ Axer fired wildly from his blaster, missing every shot. ‘This is why I hate surprises!’

                Turning towards the bomb, Blackarachnia received a strong kick across her face and sending her afloat as well. Luckily, she had managed to grab a hold of the ship with her stalks. Unluckily, Cannonball was already upon her, grabbing her by one stalk and swinging her over his head – back into the Ark’s surface.

Lifting herself out of the crater made from her body, Blackarachnia looked up to find the Star Seeker’s captain holding his blade above his head. A wide grin spread across his face.

\-----

Pounce and Wingspan landed upon the Ark, scanning its wide, golden surface.

                ‘Okay, what now?’ Wingspan asked, staring straight ahead.

                ‘Dunno, don’t care.’ Pounce growled. He activated a blaster before taking pot-shots at the ship he was standing on. ‘We’re supposed to attack, so attack.’

                Wingspan looked at Tidal Wave as it unleashed it’s payload of rockets at the Ark, mindful of the clones position. ‘The Tidal Wave is doing a pretty good job of it already.’ He looked back at Pounce. ‘I guess we ought to wait for them to come out so we can stop them before they make their stand.’

                Pounce let out another growl. ‘I aint going in there while the boss is setting this ship to blow.’

                ‘You’re not the least bit curious what these guys are like?’ Wingspan asked, grinning. ‘These _are_ the guys who killed Megatron, you know. I wouldn’t mind taking a gander of their living conditions— before we blow them to the pit, of course.’

                ‘Don’t know, don’t care.’ Pounce repeated. He didn’t appear to be listening.

                Wingspan let out a sigh. ‘I still hate how we have to call this guy our boss. Megatron was a _real_ boss—back when we were the ones ordering people around… good times. Calling Cannonball “boss” is like—blegh—it tastes bad just to say it. You know what I mean?’

                Pounce stared directly at him. ‘Look.’

                Wingspan stared back. ‘What?’

                ‘Behind you. Something opened.’

                Wingspan spun around and peered at the now-open hatch across from him. ‘You’re sure that wasn’t already open when we landed?’

                ‘Don’t know, don’t—‘

                ‘Whatever.’ Wingspan approached the open hatch, blaster raised. ‘I was meaning to find an entrance anyway. I’ve been looking forward to meeting—.’

                Before he could finish his thought, a bright blue beam of light shot from the hole and struck Wingspan in the face, sending him hurdling back with a trail of smoke stemming from his head.

                Ironhide crawled out of the hatch first, getting a feel for his magna clamps as he fired another round at the two. ‘I was expecting a bit more resistance. Pity.’

                Optimus came out next, brandishing his axe as he charged the nearest of the two. ‘Guess they were understaffed.’ He swung his axe, only for the clone to jump to the side, missing him completely.

                ‘I’m a shock troop,’ the clone explained. ‘I’m here to “shock” you.’

                Ironhide prepared another shot, only to spot a missile coming his way from the Tidal Wave. He dodged as the Ark sustained the hit, chunks of metal spraying outward and against his frame as he did so. While the Ark’s automatic guns did their job to shoot down the majority of the Tidal Wave’s assault, several shots still made contact. He’d have to buff those out later. Ironhide looked up to find Optimus grappling one-on-one with the shock trooper, unable to get a shot in. ‘Wait, were there one or two of them?’

                ‘One.’ Optimus answered. ‘Wait. No. two… I think.’

                ‘Do you _see_ two of us?’ The clone asked before delivering a quick blow to his head.

                Optimus was knocked dizzy, only barely able to make the distinction of friend and foe. ‘Damn, Ironhide, a little help?’

                Ironhide charged forward only for a sharp pain to pierce his backside. Behind him was a large, white and turquoise robotic puma, digging its claws deeper into his hide, prepared to rip out whatever was inside. ‘Geez, you are fast. How did you even get behind me so quickly?!’

                The puma tried to pierce his armour, Failed, and retracted his claws. He proceeded to transform into robot mode and stare the Autobot down. ‘Well that’s odd. Normally I’d have sliced through you by now. This never happens, I swear.’

                Ironhide shrugged. ‘I’m full of surprises.’ He twirled around and fired a shot into the Decepticon’s chassis, sending him falling back and off the side of the Ark. ‘Heh, lightweight.’

                ‘Ironhide!’

                The older Autobot looked back to find Optimus still grappling with the same Decepticon. He was on the losing side, putting up the defensive as the Decepticon wailed on him with the butt of his blasters.

                ‘Still waiting for that backup!’

                ‘But I just—.’ Ironhide looked back at the spot where the Puma was knocked off the ship. He shook his head and charged his foe once again.

                The Decepticon leaped back before transforming into a bird-like creature and hovering above the two. Activating his blasters, Wingspan began strafing the pair of Autobots thanks to his higher ground. Optimus and Ironhide dove out of the way, only for the puma to crawl from the side of the ship and tackle Ironhide to the ground. ‘I hope you didn’t forget me so soon. Now that I know where all your soft-points are, tearing out your spark will be a synch.’

                Ironhide thrashed at Pounce’s face with the bulk of his cannons. ‘You Decepticons have no sense subtlety, do you?’ But Pounce had the upper hand, dragging a claw across the Autobot’s face and leaving deep slash-marks in his wake.

                Dodging Wingspan’s shots, Optimus charged Pounce and tackled him off of his weapons specialist. As the clone took his time to recoil, Optimus lodged his axe into his shoulder as he transformed before balling his free hand into a fist and punching him across the face. ‘So there _are_ two of you.’

                Pounce let out a grunt as Wingspan came at him from behind, firing at Prime’s back and setting it ablaze. Optimus stumbled as Wingspan transformed, landing next to Pounce. Ironhide fired his cannons, only to miss as the two clones began sidestepping back and forth between each-other.

                ‘Slag, I can’t tell which is which.’

                ‘Does it matter?’ Optimus said, recovering. ‘Just shoot one of them!’

                Ironhide did as he was told and fired a shot at who he _thought_ was Pounce. Instead, the clone transformed into a robotic falcon and easily dodged the shot. With his cannons recharging, Pounce sprang into action and tackled Ironhide once again. ‘Wrong answer, Autobot.’ The puma hissed, biting and tearing into the Autobot’s torso.

                Wingspan chuckled from above. ‘Not sure why you wouldn’t shoot at my brother. He _is_ the famous “deadly killer” of the two of us. It makes far more sense than trying to attack _me_ since I can, you know, _fly.’_

                But Ironhide wasn’t down yet. Shrugging off the multiple scratches across his frame, Ironhide took a step forward, locking his servos with Pounce’s. He let out a roar and pushed Pounce back.

                Pounce grinned and kicked Ironhide in the gut. When he got no response, the Decepticon’s expression went solemn. ‘Oh right. You’re a freak.’

                Ironhide grinned back and activated his cannons, firing a shot into Pounce’s torso and sending him flying back.

                ‘Ironhide!’

                ‘Understood!’

                Before Pounce could gain his balance, Optimus delivered a hard kick from behind, just as Ironhide charged forward and shoulder tackled him in the chest. Sandwiched between the two Autobots, Pounce’s spark compressed in on itself and a splash of oil gushed from his mouth. His system still recovering from the sudden discharge, Pounce felt himself go limp and his body fall over against the Ark.

                ‘That’s one.’ Optimus said, panting as he stepped away from the Decepticon. ‘Now where’s the other—.’

                Wingspan swooped down and wrapped his talons around Prime’s shoulders. Lifting him upward and flying off with him. ‘Nice to meet you, Optimus Prime.’ The Decepticon said.

                ‘Er, nice to meet you?’

                ‘Now, before I take you to our ship to be executed, I’d like to take the chance to get to know you a little better.’

                ‘Okay?’

                ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

                ‘Coral.’

                ‘What’s your favourite TV show?’

                ‘All my Circui-- sorry.’ Optimus said before upwards with his axe and finding a more comfortable position. ‘That’s better—All my Circuits.’

                ‘Favourite artist?’

                ‘Freddy Mercury.’

                Wingspan chuckled. ‘I didn’t expect you to act so calm when you’re – heh – about to die.’

                ‘It’s a good distraction.’

                ‘Oh agreed, best to do what you can to distract you from your impending death than wallow in fear.’

                ‘I meant for you. See, while we were “chatting”, I unhooked my axe from my wrist and climbed onto your back with my blade against your throat. You seriously didn’t notice any of that?’

                Wingspan paused and hovered in space, now realizing his position. ‘Oh. Bollocks.’

                ‘Yep.’ Optimus pulled at Wingspan’s wing, causing hi, to spiral out of the air. Directing his descent, Optimus steered the plummeting clone towards the Ark. Towards his brother.

                As soon as Pounce had recuperated, he was met with a face full of Wingspan. The two crashed into each other, rolling across the Ark before coming to a halt at the ship’s outer rim. Sparks and dents covering their identical frames.

                Wingspan lifted his head only to find his face inches away from Ironhide’s cannon. Optimus landed next to him, draping his axe over his shoulder and briefly bumping fists with his weapons specialist along the way. ‘Any other bright ideas?’

                The clone winced. ‘Yes, actually...’

                He and Pounce lifted their hands above their heads.

                ‘We surrender.’

\-----

                Like a child playing with toy too advanced for his age, Cannonball heartily swung Blackarachnia’s frame into the Ark’s mass, sending sparks and chunks of metal exploding in multiple directions. With his foe lodged back into the ship’s plating, Cannonball delivered a swift kick into Blackarachnia’s gut, causing her to regurgitate a gob of oil.

                ‘I take it you’re the weak link of Optimus’s team.’ Cannonball said, picking her up before striking his blade across her face once again. ‘Unlike us, of course. In the Star Seekers, you’re only as strong as your weakest combatant. It’s a good philosophy—great for boosting morale. The crew deserves it.’

                ‘You seem like a nice guy.’ Blackarachnia managed. She rolled over and struck a stalk at the Captain’s leg, causing him to yelp from the sudden pain. ‘You’re a pirate – and a savage fighter at that – but you seem nice. That said, I wouldn’t have taken someone like you as the kind of guy who vies for absolute leadership. Is plundering treasure just not enough for you?’

                Cannonball made a wry expression and a so-so gesture with his hand. The one that wasn’t replaced with a blade, at least. ‘Eh… I’m a simple mech. I’m mostly just in it for the reward and nothing else. Besides, it’s my boss who’s becoming head-con out of this deal. Not me.’

                There it was. ‘Your boss?’ Blackarachnia propped herself up. ‘I thought the Cannonball title was for the head honchos of the pirate guilds. You telling me there’s a second tier of pirate I’m not aware of?’

                Cannonball examined his blade. ‘Well, yes—and no. Yes I have a… employer of sorts, and no, ever since he took a backseat, there isn’t an active pirate in this galaxy better than me.’ He slashed his blade once again, clashing with one of Blackarachnia’s weakened stalks. As soon as Cannonball betrayed a grin of confidence, Blackarachnia made her move.

                A burst of energy pulsed from Blackarachnia’s body, knocking the pirate backwards. In the process, Blackarachnia transformed—mass displacing into her larger, spider form. The beast charged Cannonball, tackling him in the gut and thrusting several of her legs into his body like a flurry of blades. Most of them stabbed right through his torso and out the other side, tearing out important valves and visceral tubes as they released. After multiple penetrations to his armour, Blackarachnia charged for his mid-section—biting him in the chest with her mandibles before swinging her head to the side and tossing him afloat off and away from the Ark.

                Cannonball cursed to himself, liquids spilling from his mouth. ‘Dammit!’ With nothing to propel himself, the pirate captain ended up bumping into Axer.

                ‘Great plan, boss. You didn’t tell me they had a Beastie on board.’

                Cannonball scowled. ‘That’s because I didn’t _know_ they had one on board.’ He raised his communicator to his lips. ‘Brimstone, the surp—the bomb is set, break off your attack and pick up Axer and I.’

                Obediently, the Tidal Wave did as it was told, dipping underneath the Ark and scooping up the two pirates with its magnetic field. Brimstone waited on top with Pounce and Wingspan. Cannonball promptly marched over to them, furious that his plan wasn’t going the way he hoped. ‘What the hell are you two doing here? I thought I ordered you to attack—’

                ‘We retreated,’ Wingspan explained before Cannonball could get another chastising word in. ‘Or rather they forced us to retreat. They had us at gunpoint, disarmed us, and made us break off. They said something about how they didn’t want our corpses staining the Ark and it was the black one’s day for cleaning duty or—‘

                ‘Yeah,’ Pounce interrupted. ‘Ironhide said that. He said he didn’t want to have to clean up the residue if they killed us since the warp effects would only further merge us into the ship’s—‘

                Cannonball hung his head back and stared at the Ark. ‘They’re going to warp, are they?’

                As if on cue, the Ark warped out of sight, leaving the Star Seekers suspended in space.

\-----

                Optimus rested his head back into his command chair as Blackarachnia scuttled through, slowly transforming back into her robot form, one step at a time. She was holding a small black box between her claws.

                Ironhide scratched the back of his head as he surveyed Blackarachnia’s frame. She was sparking in several areas, and covered in dents. ‘You look like hell.’

                ‘Yeah.’ She said, too tired to come up with a witty comeback. ‘P.S. What am I supposed to do with this?’ She held up the black box.

                Optimus spun around in his chair. ‘What is that?’

                ‘I think it’s a bomb… no, it’s definitely a bomb.’

                ‘Is it active?!’ Optimus roared. ‘Why didn’t you throw it away before we warped?!’

                ‘Because we warped before I had the chance to throw it away!’ She said, matter-of-factly.

                ‘Give it here.’ Ironhide said as he snatched it from her. He began observing it carefully, in a way only a weapons specialist would. ‘No. It’s not. This is a C-905. Reactive class.’ He passed it back to Blackarachnia, who handled it with considerable care. ‘It’ll only blow if you apply a certain degree of force to it. In other words: do _not_ drop it. If you drop it, I’ll kill you.’

                She made an imitative salute. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

                Ironhide turned to Optimus. ‘They must have planned on firing a concentrated shot from below and taking us out all at once. All the while those two losers distracted us from above. Good thing we’re not as stupid as they think.’

                Blackarachnia was juggling the bomb with one hand. ‘At least we got a free bomb out of the deal. How often does that happen, eh?’

                Optimus lifted a warding servo. ‘Careful, Blackarachnia. Even as a joke, I’m not so sure I feel safe with you juggling a highly sensitive material such as that.’

                She pretended to drop it, only to catch it at the last minute. ‘Come on, and here I thought you trusted me? Is it because of the whole killing Autobots in my past life deal?’

                ‘Actually it’s because you have claws for hands,’ Optimus said. ‘I’d rather someone with thumbs handle it.’

                Ironhide opened his palm. ‘Remember…’ he pointed his thumb at his face. ‘I _will_ kill you.’

                Blackarachnia shrugged, and prepared to hand the bomb back to Ironhide, only for the ship to lurch violently to the side. The bomb was flung out of Blackarachnia’s grip, only for her to catch it last minute with one of her stalks. This didn’t last long, as the bomb landed on the ground with a loud thud. It failed to go off, but Ironhide had already dashed for it.

                ‘BLACKARACHNIA!’ he roared. ‘I’m going to kill—‘

                She raised her weak servos above her head. ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re going to kill me. Lay off it big guy, we all know you’re not actually going to kill anyone. And besides, you cannot tell me _that_ was my fault.’

                The room was tilted onto its side. The artificial gravity was all that existed to keep them level. Optimus had already sprung from his chair. ‘What _was_ that?’

                The main view-screen came to life. Cannonball’s wounded visage took its place. A crack ran through his visor and down his face as evidence of the wounds he sustained while fighting Blackarachnia. It was clear that if he had stayed any longer, his fight would have been lost. ‘I’m baaaaaack!’

                Optimus gripped the screen with both servos, shaking it wildly. ‘How the hell are you still here?! We just warped to some random galactic interval—‘

                ‘And we warped after you.’ Cannonball grinned.

                ‘But that’s—that’s impossible! The Ark is cloaked, its warp signature can’t be traced! There was no possible way you could have known where we were going to warp before we did!’

                ‘Then you have obviously reached a fatal misconception.’ Cannonball said, knowingly. The feed was cut, and Optimus withdrew his axe.

                ‘That’s it.’

                Ironhide trailed behind him. ‘What are we going to do, Prime?’

                He made his way to Blackarachnia. ‘If they know how to track us then we’re as good as dead. We’ll have to throw them off somehow—and I think I have an idea. Blackarachnia, bomb-me.’

                ‘I beg your pardon?’

                ‘JUST GIVE ME THE BOMB!’

                Blackarachnia did as she was told and Optimus obtained the bomb. ‘You look like slag. Stay here and pilot the ship.’

                ‘But you never let me pilot the ship— I _suck_ at piloting the ship.’

                Optimus grinned beneath his faceplate. ‘Exactly.’

\-----

                The Tidal Wave opened fire on the Ark once again. This time with Cannonball and the others standing safely on the main deck. Cannonball stared up at the stars. ‘Any minute now. We’ll jostle something, and they’ll blow up.’ He yawned. ‘Just give it a minute.’

                ‘It freaking better.’ Axer said. ‘Ferak said he made that bomb as sensitive as Starscream’s temper. If this takes any longer I’m taking it out on him.’

                ‘Oh be patient.’ Cannonball said with a wave. ‘You’re always so paranoid about Ferak’s work. Cut him some slack, will you?’

                ‘Captain.’ Brimstone reported. ‘The Ark is pressing towards us.’

                ‘Then raise the shields and—‘

                ‘No, I mean they’re trying to ram—‘

                Just as he said, the Ark rammed its hull into the side of the Tidal Wave, sending both ship’s askew and tilting them sideways. As this occurred, Optimus and Ironhide were sent flying forward from the Ark’s hull before landing on the Tidal Wave’s main deck. Ironhide shot Brimstone and Pounce with either cannons, forcing them back while Optimus held the bomb above his head.

                Before Wingspan and Axer could respond in kind, Optimus let out a shout. ‘ENOUGH!’

                Cannonball signalled for them to stop. Ferak, Tornado and Brushguard had already entered from the side to watch what was going on. Not one dared make a move.

                Optimus raised his voice. ‘I got your present, Cannonball,’ he gestured to the captain, ‘I appreciate it. Thanks to you, it’s a thumbprint away from going off and taking us all down with it.’ He watched Cannonball’s expression. ‘Including this ship.’

                Cannonball was dead serious. ‘You’re bluffing.’

                ‘Snaptrap taught me something.’

                The name caught Cannonball’s attention, just as Optimus hoped. ‘He taught me that I’m going to die sooner or later, and that I’m only delaying the inevitable.’ His hand squeezed against the box. ‘If I’m dying now, then I will have no qualms in taking a few of you down with me.’

                ‘I’d listen to him,’ Ironhide said, cannon’s trained.

                Cannonball stared at them for a moment before lowering his head. ‘Damn.’ He raised a servo above head in frustration. ‘Alright, fine. You win.’

                Optimus placed the bomb on the ship’s surface, setting it to automatically stick on its surface and lock into place, just as Cannonball had done so to his own minutes before. ‘Good. Now let me tell you what’s about to happen. I’m going to return to my ship and set it to start firing at yours—if you don’t warp back to wherever you call home between now and the moment this bomb goes off, then I’m afraid the title of Cannonball will be finding a new owner _very_ soon.’

\-----

As soon as Optimus had returned to the Ark, the Tidal Wave was gone. They were presumably disposing of the bomb by now. Optimus was slumped in his command chair, unmoving.

                Blackarachnia stood just barely in view, arms folded. ‘Everything alright, big-bot? We won, didn’t we?’

                Optimus nodded. ‘Yes, Blackarachnia.’ He looked up. ‘We did… Where’s Ironhide?’

                ‘Buffing out the ship.’ She nodded. ‘Ol’ Arky is a tough one, but I suppose she’s still not quite invulnerable to enemy fire.’

                Optimus raised a brow to her. ‘Arky—?’ As he looked at her properly, Optimus had remembered the damages Blackarachnia had taken prior. ‘Hey, you should take it easy. I didn’t mean to sound insulting back when I said you looked like slag—but you look like slag.’

                Blackarachnia stared at her servos. ‘I’m fine. I’m standing, aren’t I?’

                ‘You should refuel on some Energon at the very least. Don’t think I don’t know about the energy consumption that comes with your mass displacement. It can literally mean the death of you.’

                ‘Very well…’ she saluted lazily. ‘As you command Lord Optimus Prime, sir. I will devour those snacks per your orders.’

                He nodded, smiling. ‘This is a job only you can do, soldier. I expect our snack supply to be halved before my evening soaps. Now go forth!’ He swiped a dramatic servo.

                Blackarachnia laughed, passing Ironhide by as she left the room.

                Ironhide stared at her before approaching Optimus. ‘She better not eat all my snacks.’

                Optimus shrugged.

                ‘How’re you feeling?’

                He let out a sigh. ‘A little scared, to be honest.’

                Ironhide snorted. ‘Impossible, the Optimus I know is afraid of nothing.’ There was a sarcastic dip in his voice that made Optimus chuckle, albeit briefly.

                The commander rose from his chair, gazing at the front-view monitor. ‘They can find us now.’

                ‘Cannonball?’

                ‘Everyone.’ He looked at his right hand mech in the eye. ‘The only reason we haven’t been swarmed by every Decepticon in the universe is because I happened to have found a way of preventing the Ark’s warp and energy signatures from being detected. Cannonball – or whoever’s he’s working for – knows how to bypass that, and now, for the first time ever, there’s someone out there that can find us.’

                Ironhide frowned. ‘Then as soon as they finish licking their wounds—‘

                ‘They can warp back on top of us and finish what they started.’ He massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration. ‘I’m afraid Ironhide, that we’re no longer safe.’

\-----

                Cannonball had no time to repair himself. He oversaw Tornado diffusing the bomb – which was already in itself diffused – and was forced to wait at the atmosphere control before making planet fall. The trip from there was a smooth one, though Pounce and Wingspan required further medical attention, and he didn’t want to take that for himself. Crossing the planet’s wide, rocky desert, the Tidal Wave soon crossed over the dead, crumbling city that stood in the middle. It was once considered to be Crystal, now it was long since abandoned and falling apart, despite Fulcrum’s efforts on repairing it.

                Cannonball assured the rest of his crew to do as they pleased as he spoke to “him”, and soon saw them socializing with the likes of Crankcase and Take-Off. “His” chambers were in the city’s central spiritual tower. Cannonball always saw it as uncharacteristic for the former Captain of the Star Seekers, but who was he to complain about his subsequent promotion? He exited an elevator, arrived at the tower’s top-most floor, and transformed into his Cybertronian van-mode, driving the rest of the way to his commander’s chambers. Krok was waiting for him.

                ‘He’s meditating,’ said the aide, passively.

                Cannonball transformed. ‘Figures. You know we could have really used you back there. You _and_ your team.’

                ‘My team is busy acting in the capacity of garrison.’ He shrugged. ‘I love them and all, but trust me when I say they would cause more harm than good on the front line.’

                Cannonball nodded subtly, still upset about his defeat.

                ‘So, what was the fabled Optimus Prime really like?’

                He sighed. ‘He’s overhyped. Couldn’t beat Wingspan in a one-on-one fight.’

                Krok eyed him suspiciously. ‘And yet here you are, empty handed.’

                Cannonball made a half-grin. ‘Did I mention he’s also totally insane? Suicidal too.’

                Krok tilted his head and blinked caustically. ‘If he’s suicidal then I’d hope you have a damn good explanation for why he’s still not dead.’

                ‘I like you better when you’re quietly serving the big guy.’ Cannonball said in what he more or less thought was a friendly way of telling Krok to shut up.

                ‘Speaking of.’ The doors parted, and a tall, insect-like Decepticon walked through. ‘I think he’d like that report now.’

                Krok was taken aback. ‘Bugly? How long have you been in there? I thought the master wanted to be left alone.’

                Bugly scowled. ‘I can visit him whenever I damn please. He and I—we go way back. You wouldn’t understand

                ‘Whatever you say.’ Krok turned to Cannonball. ‘Better go. Wouldn’t want to have him wait.’

                The pirate put his hands in the air. ‘Alright, I’m moving. You don’t have to remind me twice.’

                The three proceeded into the room. It was a wide chasm-like chamber, with a mile-high ceiling and a hexagonal shape. It gave off a blue light that danced shadows over the waiting Decepticons.

                Cannonball made a grotesque face. ‘Finback’s here too? Were you guys having a party in here while I was out getting my aft kicked?’

                The stout, rusty, purple Decepticon pointed an aged finger at the pirate. ‘I heard you failed. Knew it.’ He turned to the meditating Decepticon, who sat in the center of the room. ‘Had ye sent me to lead the charge instead, we’d be celebrating. But nah, let the lads’ screw it up like always.’ As soon as he finished, the aged Decepticon hacked into his arm, allowing a trail of slime to escape his lips.

                ‘Blow it out your exhaust, Finback.’ Cannonball spat. He made no secret of his loathing for the aged pirate. He was usually hanging around Thundertron, who was a brain-dead wannabe big-shot half of the time. The two always annoyed him.

                Before Finback could get another word in, the meditating Decepticon spoke up. ‘Still, you failed, yes?’

                Cannonball nodded. ‘Well yeah, Optimus threw us for quite a loop. Despite the odds, he really made asses of ourselves when he—‘

                ‘Yeah, I thought as much.’ The Decepticon stood up from where he was meditating, and began examining a long katana-shaped blade. One that reflected off his samurai-like armour.

                _Did he always have that?_ Cannonball wondered. ‘I beg your pardon?’

                ‘I have come up with a few theories myself.’ The Decepticon said. ‘How else could he kill Megatron, right? It’s vexing! I’ve been thinking dark arts or mind manipulation— but it’s still possible that he’s just in contact with a higher power as well. That’d just turn this whole thing into one big conspiracy, but I can’t help but feel that his power is on another plane entirely. It only explains how he’s managed to get away with what he has in person and on his own. I suppose there are a plenty of possibilities, but all I know for certain…’ He turned around, revealing his face to Cannonball. It was skull-like, with several strands of wires pouring out from the bottom of his mouth. Despite being able to speak as charismatically as the likes of Megatron or Starscream, Cannonball’s Commander lacked the bottom half of his jaw. ‘…is that Optimus Prime is a force of nature that must be stopped. No matter the cost.’

                ‘Captain—.’ Cannonball immediately realized his mistake.

                He raised a hand. ‘Nono. I am not your captain anymore. I have no need for raiding and pillaging anymore, Cannonball. You are the captain now.’ He paused. ‘That said, how dare you fail in your mission and misattribute my title.’ He stepped forward, towering over Cannonball. He lifted the blade to the pirate’s cracked visor.

                ‘I am Lord Bludgeon. Defender of the Crystal City, and future leader of the Decepticons.’ He lowered the blade and rested his servos beneath his wiring chin. ‘Now go fix yourself up. You look ridiculous.’

 

 

 


	36. Bludgeon's no Idiot

                Bludgeon cupped a hand around his mouth as he called out to the Star Seeker Captain. ‘You’re my first mate, Cannonball. But remember—I will not tolerate any further failures from you. You _know_ the severity of my punishments. Do not disappoint.’

                Cannonball responded with a curt wave of the hand before exiting the room.

                ‘Bah,’ Finback scowled. ‘Ya should’ve tortured the fool. Made an example of him for the others.’

                He shrugged. ‘Yeah, I probably should’ve.’ He let out a quick sigh, returning his katana to his hip. ‘But we’re going to win either way, so I can’t just pretend his failure is like the coming of Armageddon or anything.’ His wires furled as if he were grinning. ‘That comes later.’

                Bugly, stuttering and blinking, stepped forward. ‘I… thought _I_ was your first mate.’

                Bludgeon stared at him through slits. He folded his arms and let steam pour through the “nostrils” carved into his skull-mask. ‘You’re alright, Bugly. You’re alright.’ He pointed a skeletal finger at Krok. ‘But Krok is _definitely_ my favourite.’ The others laughed.

                Bugly scowled, but Bludgeon didn’t take the bait. He wringed his domineering servos. ‘In truth, I care very little of you – or any of you, for that matter – personally. If you can do your job on the other hand… do your job, and do it right, and I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you.’ He leaned his head back, allowing the mass of his body to blanket his shadow over his long-time comrade. ‘We’ll _all_ be rewarded by that point.’

                There was the sound of a loud slam, and a presence entered the room. They were big, green, and carried a massive bulk to them. It was Gutcruncher.

                Bludgeon gestured to the open door. ‘Um, guards? Did no one seriously think to _lock_ the door to my quarters before taking their breaks? There could have been a Spark Eater, or a Nightstalker out there for all we know.’

                ‘You have some explaining to do, Bludgey my friend,’ Gutcruncher said, marching towards him with heavy, pounding, footsteps.

                Krok motioned for his rifle, but was soon called off with a wave of Bludgeon’s hand. The Decepticon strutted slowly towards the new arrival. ‘What a surprise—Gutcruncher. Now what on earth can I do to prevent you from barging into my quarters in the future?’ There was a slow build of rage in his voice that seemed to escalate with every word.

                Gutcruncher presented a small, spindly Cybertronian, which he dumped in front of the Commander. It was Thundertron. Gutcruncher folded his arms as he stared at the wretch. ‘Here I was, travelling to Nebus IV to solidify a deal—when _this_ guy shows up with the Dreads, restricting me from leaving the solar system!’

                Thundertron drooled on the floor. ‘The lad’s got quite a wallop.’

                Finback kneeled by his side. ‘Oh get up you sorry pile of ilk. You’re staining the big man’s new floor.’

                ‘Aye,’ Thundertron replied, rising slowly.

                Gutcruncher jabbed a digit at Bludgeon’s chest. ‘That’s thirty-thousand credits I’m _not_ getting back. I need my business, Bludgeon! You’re restricting me of my basic Cybertronian rights! I’m a caged bird, man, I need to spread my wings and fly, and be free!’

                Bludgeon reached for his blade. ‘Let me make something clear,’ he pulled out his katana with one servo and reached at Gutcruncher with the other, grabbing him by the shoulder, and pushing him back into a wall, his blade inches away from Gutcruncher’s face. ‘I don’t like you, Gutcruncher. The only reason you’re here at all is because I’m paying you to be. I shouldn’t _have_ to pay any of you, but alas, we must bolster our numbers somehow.’      

                ‘And the pay’s great!’ Gutcruncher replied. ‘But I still gotta maintain an image, and you with your little border patrols are keeping me from maintaining anything.’

                ‘Which reminds me—this “business” you get up to— not only is it a dirty, tasteless sin and a betrayal to the city you are charged to protect— _paid_ to protect, but it just so happens that your business goes against everything I stand for as a child of Primus!’

                Gutcruncher shrugged nervously. The blade was reaching awfully close, and his faceplate was a newly purchased model. ‘That’s preposterous—I run a _humble_ business.’

                ‘You sell body parts to the black market!’

                ‘Humbly!’

                Bludgeon’s wires swayed, as if he were sticking out his tongue in disgust. ‘No, what you’re doing is an affront to the dead—just being associated with you makes me feel… itchy. Death is something to be cherished and respected—not to be used as some cheap method of income! It drains the event of its significance, entirely.’ He withdrew his katana, shaking his head in disappointment. ‘If you don’t want me to cut you down where you stand, then call off these _deals_ , and put those bodies back where they belong: in the ground. I’m sure Unicron has a special place in his maw for you when your time comes to join them.’

                Gutcruncher cracked his neck painfully to the side. ‘You sure about that, Bludgeon? I’m a _lot_ bigger, and a _lot_ stronger than you. Who’s to say we can’t make some… negotiations, instead.’

                Bludgeon grinned, as if he were waiting for this ever since Gutcruncher took his first step inside his chambers. ‘If you really think that some brutish, capitalist has a chance against a master of Metallikato—a literal master of your so-called “negotiations”, then I’d be delighted to make an example of you once and for all.’

                Before either of them could make a move, the door slammed open once again. It was Wingspan this time.

                Bludgeon raised a servo towards the door, looking at the others. ‘Really, guys? Again? Do we not have _any_ security protocols or what?’

                Wingspan approached the group, hands wringing. ‘Hey guys. Haven’t seen some of you in a while. Look, uh… no one was answering their comms, so I was told to come here and tell you in person.’

                ‘What, Wingspan?’ Bludgeon took a large step towards the clone. ‘What could you possibly have to tell me at this time?’

                Unintimidated, Wingspan gave his report. ‘Banzaitron’s here.’

                Bludgeon’s blinked in surprise. ‘Here? As in—here, here?’

                The clone nodded, gesturing to the doorway where the large, black and red mech entered.

                He walked one foot in front of the other as if he were a runway model. When he was within speaking distance, he stopped, clasped his hands in front of his lap, and addressed the Decepticon commander. ‘Bludgeon, it’s been a while. I was told I’d receive my payment in per—‘

                ‘Banzaitron!’ The samurai exclaimed, strutting briskly towards the mech with open arms.

                For a moment, Banzaitron expected Bludgeon to take him in for a hug and recoiled, but instead, the Decepticon stopped at attention, bowed his head, and linked his servos together, forming a symbol of religious significance. It was the ancient Cybertronian gesture that had been passed down from the Metrotitans, and through the Circle of Light. Fingers and thumbs touching one another to form a triangle—symbolizing the brain, the spark, and the T-cog: Rossums Trinity. Banzaitron quickly mirrored the movement, and Bludgeon smiled behind his thick beard of wires.

                ‘It has been a while, indeed,’ Bludgeon said. ‘Still following the branch of Crystalocution I take it? Turning your training and faith into a hired work— you’ve come far!’

                He stared before granting him a quick nod. ‘Yes… Yes indeed.’

                Bludgeon blinked, quickly remembering the presence of the others in the room. He looked back at Krok before wrapping an arm around the new visitor. ‘Oh, forgive me. Allow me to introduce our newest ally. Banzaitron and I were pupils under Master Yoketron back in the day. It was before…’ he scowled. ‘… Before everything went to hell.’ His expression quickly relaxed as he turned back to Banzaitron. ‘But this guy—I tell you. He used to be quite the wild-card when we were pupils.’

                Banzaitron laughed quietly. ‘I won’t deny that.’

                Bludgeon released him before moving back to Wingspan. ‘Make sure Banzaitron and his team are comfortable. I don’t want any disturbances amidst their training regimen—‘

                ‘That will not be a problem,’ Banzaitron interjected. ‘I know my way around—and besides, my team has their own private meditation rooms. I… _implore_ you not to worry.’

                Bludgeon stuck a thumb at the Crystalocution practitioner. ‘This guy… he’s a vicious one, don’t make any mistake, but if he isn’t the nicest Decepticon in the world, I don’t know who is.’

                Without another word, Banzaitron took his leave, allowing Gutcruncher to use the short frame of time to hurry out of Bludgeon’s quarters alongside him. Wingspan, Finback and Thundertron soon followed, going their separate ways as they exited the chamber and Bludgeon and Krok to their reports.

                Gutcruncher, however, remained just outside the Commander’s quarters, looking out at the Crystal City’s broken landscape below. Where the Circle of Light—or their defences in their time of need—disappeared to, nobody knew. But Gutcruncher had to respect Bludgeon for attempting to pick up the pieces. His fists clenched, leaving small indents in the protective railing. Who the hell was he to bark orders at him? Sure Bludgeon had been around with the Decepticons longer than he had—and sure perhaps he was more skilled and far more charismatic than Gutcruncher ever was. But at least Gutcruncher was loyal. Bludgeon, guided by his dogma, lowered himself from General to Commander of the Mayhems, only to demote himself further to Captain of an Independent Pirate guild, leading his crew towards pillaging and destruction with little to no contact with Decepticon High Command. A common occurrence ever since the Surge, but an occurrence that tended to be frowned upon nonetheless.

                Gutcruncher on the other hand was always within reach. Even when he managed business with organic colonies on the other side of the galaxy, he would still fulfill his job as General of Air-To-Ground Support and do so happily. While it was a more obscure position, he still maintained a rank equal to that of Strika or Scorponok, and he could only go higher from there. At least he would, if it weren’t for Bludgeon and his blinding religiosity. He could simply usurp him—he had done it with several commanders in the past, but who would take his side? Krok was endlessly loyal to whoever happened to be in power, Cannonball was too full of himself to risk any possibility of a tarnished rep, Bugly was a joke, Finback and Thundertron were old news, and had very little say in matters overall, and with that new religious nut—what was his name—Banzaitron! With Banzaitron at Bludgeon’s disposal, there was little chance he could ever hope to garner some big-time support.

                What made it worse, was that Bludgeon was no idiot. He knew that behind that mask of charm and passive aggressiveness, Bludgeon had already begun contemplating the possible ways of murdering Gutcruncher for his inevitable treason. This would not have been as easy as nudging that piece of shrapnel into General Scrash’s spark-chamber, or “forgetting” to administer his former commander, Shuttle Gunner’s medicine when he needed it most. This would have had to be a full on revolution. Sure he was about as strong and intelligent as Bludgeon was—he wouldn’t have survived this long were he not—but Bludgeon had the skill and support to deem himself superior. He was not about to start anything big—but doing nothing meant kissing his life’s work goodbye. Gutcruncher was stuck, plain and simple.

                A presence loomed over next to him, watching the landscape alongside him. It was Banzaitron. He didn’t say a word.

                Gutcruncher chuckled to himself. It was time to crunch some guts. ‘Well, well. If it isn’t the cool, mysterious new guy who _everybody_ loves! How did Bludgeon’s aft smell? All that brown nosing ought to have given you a proper whiff. Or is that against your sacred ancient ninja arts, oh my! What on earth would _Primus_ say?!’ He spoke his mind, suspecting the typical “cool, ninja” response.

                Banzaitron turned to him, and narrowed his optics. ‘Shut up, fat-ass.’

                Gutcruncher turned his head in his direction and stared at him.

                ‘Oh don’t give me that look. Stop it, seriously—you look like a dumbass.’

                ‘What the hell.’

                Banzaitron’s optics were filled with contempt. ‘What? You think I _like_ being here? Bludgeon’s a dork.’

                Gutcruncher straightened his posture before scanning Banzaitron up and down. ‘Say, didn’t you work with me during—‘

                ‘The Nucleon Crusades, yeah. You were my commanding officer during the Action-Master contingencies. A few others who were there are under Bludgeon’s command as we speak. Krok, Axer… Now that I’m here, you can add Treadshot and me to the list, and I think I found evidence of Charger being present here, but I don’t have anything solid quite yet.’ He spat. ‘Charger… that one always creeped me out. He was the one with all those… _problems._ I’d hate to run into that psycho again.’

                Gutcruncher was enraged. He was a member of high command. He had led hundreds of troops at a time, and Bludgeon—this once declared fugitive of Megatron’s empire had stolen his rank, and now, even his troops. It angered him to no end, but he wasn’t going to show it in front of Banzaitron. ‘Geez, what’s with everyone associated with the Action-Master fiasco going merc? Either way, you’ve done your research.’

                ‘Not really,’ he said, plainly. ‘I am the director of the Decepticon Secret Service—I’m kind of a big deal. It’s my job to know everything, you see.’ He looked back out at the city, the destruction seemed to satisfy him more than anyone else. ‘The Secret Service has always been an autonomous guild, though Megatron would pay us greatly for our services – be they the collection of information, or to silence others who may have held on to information too volatile – with him dead, and Lord Soundwave already knowledgeable about pretty much everything, we’ve been getting very little income for our troubles as of late.’

                ‘Until Bludgeon started hunting for mercenaries.’

                Banzaitron nodded. ‘Still, you can’t complain about the pay. The Crystal City’s sacred treasures do me just fine. It’s the long term that bothers me.’

                ‘No kidding. I run an autonomous business myself. But if Bludgeon’s serious about what he’s planning to do…’

                ‘It could bring the war to an end, yeah.’ He let out a sigh before resting his arms on the railing before him. ‘Which is good for the rest of the galaxy, don’t get me wrong. But it would put guys like us out of business.’

                Gutcruncher began to grin beneath his faceplate. ‘I get the feeling you and I have one or two things in common.’

                ‘I wouldn’t push your luck. Unlike me, you’re not the director of the DSS. And unlike you, I grew out of my own corpse-selling-business phase back when I was still “Joke”etron’s pupil.’

                ‘Was that back when you and Bludgeon were best buds?’

                He sneered. ‘Make no mistake, Bludgeon’s a great warrior. He’s naïve and, again, a dork—but he’s strong: physically, _and_ socially. He’s one of the greatest Decepticons of our time, and I respect him for it.’ He had already turned aside and begun walking along the steep passage, running his fingertips against the railing’s rim. ‘I can’t wait to kill him.’

                He was out of sight before Gutcruncher could say another word. Not that he would. He stared at the space where Banzaitron stood through round, oval optics. He tapped a finger against the railing, thinking to himself for a moment before speaking.

                ‘You see that?’ he asked.

                ‘I did.’ A figure said from the shadows between Bludgeon’s chamber and the corner wall. A bright yellow visor filled the area, floating in place like a conspicuous streetlight in the dark. ‘No one can hear us here. What do you suppose?’

                ‘I suppose we should wait and find out. I don’t want to waste my time or creds on someone who claims to be some bigshot.’

                ‘I’ve read his file. He’s arrogant, but lives up to his hype more times than not. I believe he might indeed be capable of matching Bludgeon’s fighting ability.’

                He turned away from the railing to face his second-in-command. ‘You’re the mathematician. What are our chances of pulling off a successful rebellion?’

                ‘Not bad, but far from worth pursuing. Banzaitron has his men, you have yours— but Bludgeon still holds the higher ground. If we had at least one more force equal to that of Banzaitron’s or yourself, then perhaps we could stop Bludgeon before he ruins everything.’

                ‘But since we _don’t_ have anyone else—‘

                The figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing their thin, green and white frame. Their expression was masked by a faceplate and visor. ‘Then we either let Bludgeon win, or we take our chances with Banzaitron. But if we were to – hypothetically of course – place our attack against Bludgeon, we’d want to do it soon. Time is running out.’

                ‘As usual, Charger, you’re right.’ Gutcruncher reached into a pouch around his waist, picked out a Cy-gar, parted his faceplate, and bit down on the small tube of metal. ‘It’s only a matter of time before Bludgeon’s sword finds its way through Prime’s spark—and when it does, the world will never be the same again.’

\-----

                ‘We’re stealing from Bludgeon?’

                Starscream grinned from his perch. ‘More or less, my dear Strika. More or less…’

                Thundercracker frowned. He was leaning against the toppled desk, arms folded skeptically. ‘How do you expect us to “more or less” steal from someone, let alone Bludgeon?’

                Starscream’s optics narrowed. ‘Because we’re not pulling a Mission Impossible here. We’re not maniacs, after all. What we’re going to do is infiltrate their ranks…’

                Thundercracker sighed. ‘Thank goodness. I was afraid we were about to see another Sunstorm mess come through.’

                ‘… And kill everyone that stands in our way.’

                Thundercracker slapped himself in the face. ‘Of course.’

                Starscream clapped his hands together. ‘Of course! And that, my friends, is when the _real_ work begins… That’s when we use what Bludgeon’s been keeping locked under the Crystal City to guide us straight to Prime’s doorstep.’ He leaned back, smiling contently. ‘Piece of cake.’


	37. The Plan

                The four Decepticons stood on the Nemesis’ bridge in silence as Starscream hovered over to his square-shaped console and draped a thin servo overtop it. He stared at his troops hungrily, as if he were dying to tell them something, but was too busy waiting to savor the moment before indulging himself. He prepared to speak, only for Strika to quickly shut him down with an interruption.

                ‘So what’s Bludgeon have that we want? A bigger ship? The Great Sword of Excalibur? A bigger ship that shoots the Great Sword of Excalibur…s?’

                The moment ruined, Starscream rolled his optics and slouched over his console. ‘I was _going_ to tell you in a minute, but if your pretty little lives are all so important that you need me to pick up the pace, then by all means— go back to whatever pathetic activities you indulge yourselves, and I’ll gladly brief my reflection instead. At least then I’d have something attractive to look at while I’m doing so.’

                ‘Quit being a dipstick and spit it out,’ Thundercracker said. Strika and Slipstream nodded in agreement.

                Starscream raised his hands above his head. ‘Fine.’ He lowered them as he explained himself. ‘I have been in contact with Soundwave.’

                ‘Again?’ Strika tilted her head to the side. ‘But the two of you hate each other more than Thundercracker hates fun.’

                The blue seeker refused to make eye-contact.

                ‘How do you think _I_ feel?’ Starscream sneered, spreading his servos dramatically outward. ‘It’s not like I _want_ to talk to him! He’s been flooding my inbox with messages ever since the whole Sunstorm fiasco. I think he’s doing it to spite me or something, because if he is, it’s working,’ he stared at Thundercracker. ‘That said, _now_ do you see why I’m always in a bad mood during the morning?’

                He nodded. ‘Still doesn’t explain why you’re that way the rest of the day.’ Strika raised a servo towards him, and the two Decepticons bumped fists.

                He waved the two away with one hand while staring at Obsidian. ‘Shut up... What’s important is what he’s told me. According to Soundwave, Bludgeon is in possession of the Ark’s Serial Code—the set of numbers that link the galaxy’s Space Bridges to the Ark’s quantum engine.’

                Slipstream’s head cocked to the side. ‘Eh?’

                He stared at the damaged Seeker. ‘What. Out of anyone here, I’d half expect you to know this, Slipstream.’

                Thundercracker rapped his knuckles against her helm. ‘I’m afraid Prime took out a chunk of her brains along with her face.’

                Strika folded her arms. ‘She has “poo-brain” now.’

                ‘Oh.’ Starscream carried on. ‘Then to elaborate – for Slipstream’s benefit because I’m a nice, charming guy, of course – The Ark’s warps by sending a signal to one of the Spacebridge outposts across the Galaxy. The signal feeds the Spacebridge its serial code and desired location, and the Spacebridge guides the ship through its designated warp tunnel to that very location. Naturally, serial numbers are only shared on certain colonies and planetoids should any visitors decide to break some laws that requires their presence in court. Then, if they ever feel like escaping, the law would look up where the number warped to last, and haul ass after them. Prime did just this during our last visit back on Talon IV. Fortunately for him, his serial number was “lost” before Talon’s law enforcement could give chase.’

                ‘Bludgeon was there?’ Strika asked, mildly shocked. ‘On Talon IV—when we were fighting Sunstorm— _he_ was there lurking in the shadows?’

                Starscream made a so-so gesture with his hand. ‘Ehhh. Doubt it. But there _was_ someonethere. Someone who obtained the code—which promptly fell into Bludgeon’s bony fingers. Soundwave says that since the Quintessons had no records of the code in their system, then it must have been uploaded into a specific hard drive, or even living processor.’ He grinned, broadly. ‘And _that_ , is what Bludgeon has hidden under all those shiny skyscrapers.’

                ‘It’s also what we’re going to want to procure for ourselves,’ Obsidian said, raising a digit to his mandibles, cautiously. ‘Bludgeon is going to have the planet defended, no doubt. We may be capable of forming a faux alliance with our fellow Decepticon, but he _will_ be wary of us, and he will _not_ lie down should we decide to “kill them all.” We’ll need to formulate a few extra backup plans while we’re at it.’

                Thundercracker nodded in agreement. ‘We should make this quick. Keep fatalities to a minimum, grab the code, and get the hell out of there as quick as possible.’

                ‘Again,’ Starscream leaned his back against the console, resting his hands behind his head. ‘Piece of cake.’

                ‘What’s a Bludgeon?’

                The four Decepticons stared at Slipstream all at once.

                Obsidian raise a servo irritably to his optics and explain as calmly as he could. ‘Bludgeon is one of the most dangerous rogue Decepticons in the history of… well, Decepticonism, and has been notorious for spawning his own set of cults left and right.’

                Thundercracker continued on from where Obsidian started. ‘First it was general Primus worship, then it was a fanaticism over the resurrection of the thirteen, then it was this organic shell business—he’s insanely superstitious and believes himself to be some kind of magic warrior god.’

                Slipstream blinked. ‘Is he?’

                Obsidian shrugged.

                Slipstream mirrored the shrug.

                ‘I worked for Bludgeon once,’ Thundercracker said, wrapping his arms around himself in discontent. ‘It was awful.’

                ‘The guy kind of reminds me of Sunstorm, now that I think about it,’ Strika said, scratching the back of her head in thought. ‘Is there a reason why we attract crazy zealots, or what?’

                Starscream looked aside. ‘That reminds me. Soundwave also mentioned Sunstorm. Apparently Bludgeon held him in quite the high regard.’

                ‘How high?’ Obsidian asked, cautiously.

                ‘High enough that I probably shouldn’t let it slip that I killed the guy.’

                ‘Right.’

                Starscream clapped his hands together, content that he had explained everything the best he could. ‘Right! Without further ado.’ He spun around and began tapping co-ordinates into the console. Soon enough, the Nemesis lurched into a warp.

                ‘We’re doing this now, then?’ Strika asked, preparing to load her weaponry

                ‘Of course. Every second we waste is a second Bludgeon moves closer to killing Prime. I’d rather sit on this until tomorrow too, but if we don’t rush this, Bludgeon is going to win.’ He stared through the Nemesis’ front window as they warped in front of the planet Theopany. ‘And when that is something not even Soundwave wants to occur.’

\-----

                Blackarachnia entered the rec-room, and hovered over to the couch as per usual. Optimus and Ironhide were already waiting for her. The two were silent, however there was a soft, repetitive beeping sound that escaped the Ark’s monitor. It bothered her at first, but it soon faded away underneath the pure tension provided in the room. She still had a bit of a limp, and her wounds hadn’t fully healed, but she wasn’t going to whine about it just yet. She sat on the couch opposite from Optimus and Ironhide, forming a triangle between the three, staring lazily at her leader. Her optics were flickering weakly. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

                Optimus silently pressed his hands together and brought them to his mouth. He didn’t say a word. Blackarachnia turned to Ironhide for answers. He sat on a stool adjacent to Optimus, arms crossed and relaxed, but she could already tell he knew about as much as she did. She leaned in towards Optimus. ‘You _do_ have a plan, right?’

                Optimus inhaled, before leaning back in his chair. ‘I think… I think we’re going to have to re-think our alliances.’

                Blackarachnia’s four optics blinked as one. ‘Hah?’

                ‘I think that – for your safety – we should part ways for when Cannonball’s boss comes here and—well, you know.’

                ‘Now hold on a second…’ she placed her claws in front of her face. ‘You’re letting me go?’

                Blackarachnia stood up from the couch, pain shooting through her legs. ‘You’re kidding me! But I’m a murderer! I killed your friends, remember?’ She struggled to come up with more to say, and ended up spitting on the floor. ‘I’m your… prisoner, and I still need to work off that “community service” you sentenced me with! You can’t just set someone like that free! That kind of business is just horribly irresponsible! Even for you!’

                ‘That won’t matter for long.’ Optimus said, his voice gravelly. ‘Besides, what are _you_ complaining about? I’m setting you free—you are officially relieved of your sentence. Isn’t that what you wanted?’

                ‘I _wanted_ to survive,’ Blackarachnia ducked her head. ‘I just… don’t know what else to _do_ now. In fact I was just starting to like this kind of lifestyle…’

                Ironhide shrugged. ‘You should be thankful that Prime is allowing you to walk away at all.’

                ‘You too, Ironhide.’ Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘I want you gone as well.’

                Ironhide blinked. ‘You’re kidding.’

                ‘Ironhide—‘

                He stood up, fists rattling with rage. ‘No!’ Had his faceplate not covered his mouth, the weapons specialist would have spat. ‘I told myself I would protect you! I am not going to abandon my best friend just so he can be ripped apart by pirates!’

                Optimus raised a calming servo in his direction. ‘There’s no way around this, Ironhide. I know a death sentence when I see one. When they can strike us whenever, and from wherever they please—that’s when I know it’s time to give up. You get yourself somewhere safe, alright? We all knew this day would come.’

                Ironhide stared at his empty hands, struggling to form a coherent sentence that would knock some sense into the Prime. If only that repetitive beeping playing from the Ark’s console wasn’t so persistent. It was making it difficult for the large Autobot to think. ‘Blackarachnia’s… right, you must have some kind of plan or something! If we can’t call for backup from Prowl then maybe Rodimus! Perhaps he can—‘

                ‘Rodimus’s ship is swarming with Prowl’s agents.’ Optimus said, coldly. ‘It would make no difference compared to what we’re up against. Even then, he runs a civilian ship. Very few fighters on board.’

                Blackarachnia massaged the side of her helm in thought before clapping her claws together. ‘Then, duh, we sell the Ark for scrap! If the issue is its serial number, then why don’t we just buy a new ship? Problem solved—happy faces all around!’

                Optimus shook his head. ‘Buying a proper ship requires an exchange in information, and giving that away will only put us at an even greater danger. Besides, selling the Ark to another Cybertronian could result in an Autobot relaying that information to Prowl, or worse, result in a Decepticon killing us on the spot. What’s worse is that if we buy or sell from an organic, then they’ll have to deal with a pirate fleet warping in and—‘

                ‘Burning everything to the ground,’ Ironhide nodded, solemnly.

                ‘Then the black market,’ Blackarachnia insisted. ‘If we want to avoid exchanging any information then—‘

                ‘Then they’ll probably view me as a better form of payment than whatever we have to offer.’ Optimus finished.

                ‘Well,’ Blackarachnia clasped her claws together, certain that what she was about to propose would not be to Prime’s fancy, ‘looking at your remaining options, I’d say all that’s left for you to do now is to give Prowl a call.’

                Optimus didn’t budge. Only wincing momentarily due to the monitor’s constant beeping.

                She continued. ‘Regardless of the consequences— wouldn’t it be better getting arrested by the Autobots than killed by the Decepticons? It’s a bit of a no-brainer if you ask me.’

                Optimus squinted at her before shaking his head, and refraining to make eye-contact with her again. ‘I would honestly rather die than become another one of Prowl’s puppets.’

                Ironhide and Blackarachnia fell silent. The only sound left lingering in the room was the constant beeping of the Ark’s console.

                ‘So that’s it then,’ Blackarachnia said, clenching her claws together. ‘We all say goodbye, and I just bugger off?’

                Ironhide shook his head, furiously. ‘No. Never. I refuse to let you die like this.’

                ‘Ironhide…’

                Ironhide grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘We’re “Optimus and Ironhide”— we never leave each other behind, remember? This whole thing will blow over and—and’ He broke off, and darted to the loud console, ‘and if this damn machine doesn’t shut up in one second I—’ he paused, staring incredulously at the console.

                ‘What’s going on _now?’_ Optimus asked exhaustedly, approaching the console. He looked at the screen, and sighed. ‘Oh.’

                Without any context in mind, Blackarachnia joined them. ‘What is it?’

                ‘The phone’s ringing.’ Optimus said.

                ‘We have a phone?’

                ‘We do. We just normally don’t get any calls.’

                Ironhide shivered weakly. ‘I recognize that caller ID…’

                Optimus nodded and answered the call. A big, blue and white robot appeared on the main screen. They were talking to someone hidden off-camera. ‘—told you, I don’t know if he’ll answer, or if it’s even him, or—.’ They turned around, and grinned in surprise. ‘Holy crap! It’s him! The old dog’s finally answered the kennel!’

                ‘Chromia,’ Optimus nodded.

                The blue robot shot Ironhide a wide smirk. ‘And you’re not alone, huh. Hello there Ironhide.’

                Ironhide nodded in succession. ‘Yes. Hello Chromia. Long-time no see… How’s the, uh, team?’

                ‘Team Elita’s doing just fine, as you’d expect. It’s much quieter without you trashing the place.’ The blue femme let out a hearty laugh at Ironhide’s expense. ‘I’d even say it’s boring without you around!’

                Ironhide laughed quietly. ‘Right.’

                Blackarachnia hovered next to Optimus, motioning to Ironhide, and whispering to him softly. ‘What’s his deal?’

                But Optimus didn’t respond. When she shook the Prime by the arm, he remained fixated. After following his gaze, Blackarachnia soon realized that he wasn’t even staring at the screen. Optimus was, for whatever reason, deep in thought.

                ‘Well, we can chat more as soon as you home in on our co-ordinates…’ Chromia stiffened up. ‘You see… I already know about the pickle you’re in.’

                ‘Everyone knows our pickle,’ Ironhide retorted. ‘That’s why everyone’s out to kill us.’

                Her grin remained, but her optics narrowed. ‘We’re talking about the serial code, dumbass. If you don’t hurry up and get to planet Tei Tenga before a Decepticon warps into your face, then you’re as good as dead, and I’d have wasted this call. See you soon, lads!’ The feed was cut, and Chromia’s face disappeared.

                Blackarachnia leapt onto Ironhide’s back, much to his surprise. The weapons specialist grappled with the excited ex-Decepticon before finally giving up. ‘What the hell are you doing, Blackarachnia?’

                When he turned his head to see her, he realized that she was smiling. Blackarachnia’s arms were locked onto the larger Autobot’s wide shoulders playfully. ‘I’m celebrating! We were just about to screw off and die for no reason, but now—now we finally have our defense and backup.’ She raised her claw above her head in celebration. ‘Optimus Prime lives on! Team Prime will never die! Etcetera, etcetera!’

                Ironhide rolled his optics and shook Blackarachnia off of him. ‘Bah.’ His act fell through as a grin crossed his lips beneath his faceplate. ‘Still, it _does_ mean you don’t have to kill yourself. Eh Optim—‘

                The Prime was set in place, staring at the blank monitor where Chromia’s face was moments ago.

                ‘—mus?’

                Ironhide closed his eyes, having seen this before. He placed his hands on his hips and took a wide step to his leader’s side. ‘Prime.’

                Optimus turned around, and stared at them both, as if they were the ones acting strange in the moment. ‘What?’

                ‘Chromia wants us to warp to her co-ordin—‘

                He waved a lazy hand in the weapon specialist’s direction. ‘I know, Ironhide. I heard.’

                The black and red Autobot placed a hand on Prime’s shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

                He inhaled a deep breath before replying. ‘Yes. Just working up the emotional courage for a certain reunion I’m going to dread having.’ He turned back around to input Chromia’s co-ordinates. All the while, Ironhide and Blackarachnia exchanged uncomfortable glances.


	38. Examples

                Starscream slammed his fist against the control panel, trembling in frustration. ‘No you stupid, _stupid_ idiot! I am offering Bludgeon the Nemesis—the- _freaking_ -Nemesis!’ He began counting the additions on his hands. ‘That’s the unstoppable flagship of the Decepticon Army, my crew, including famed generals and strategists: Obsidian, Strika, and Slipstream, and most importantly, me! You have no good reason to refuse!’

                The Nemesis floated harmlessly outside Theophany’s atmosphere. A ring of orbiting railguns encircled the planet, set to fire in case Starscream were to do anything risky. Projected on the Nemesis’s front view-screen was Cannonball, arms crossed, and sneering impetuously. ‘Again, no. You’re not entering our fold.’

                Starscream was losing his patience. He expected feigning allegiance to be a tricky feat, but actually infiltrating his ranks? That was proving to be more difficult than he surmised. ‘Why the hell not? It’s not like I’m asking to be paid, unlike you. All I want is to form an alliance for a mutual beneficial outcome. So please, Captain, explain to me why you refuse to introduce Bludgeon about me?’

                Cannonball leaned back in his chair, examining the famed seeker through a cracked visor. ‘Because you’re Starscream, obviously.’

                Starscream didn’t believe he understood. Or at least, he didn’t believe Cannonball could have been so naïve. Or was he too smart for his worth? Either way. ‘And what is _that_ supposed to mean?’

                ‘It means you’re…’ he moved his hands meticulously, as if trying to properly define a word that is otherwise impossible to define without better, more complex words. ‘Y’know, _Starscream._ The traitor, the opportunist, the _jerk_.’

                Starscream blinked. ‘Well how’s _that_ supposed to make mefeel?’ The Seeker brought a digit to the bridge of his nose and massaged it carefully. ‘Here’s something—have we ever _met_ before, Cannonball? Of course not, because you rely on the words of gossip and misinformation to form your opinions on people.’ He lowered his face towards the screen to make himself clear. ‘I have never betrayed the Decepticon cause. Ever. I’ve criticised Megatron’s more contradictive ideologies, yes, and I’ve out-smarted several Autobots and Decepticons into supporting our cause – sometimes against their free will – and yes, perhaps I _am_ rough around the edges, _charmingly_ so. But I would never betray my cause.’ He watched as Cannonball brought a hand to his chin and grinned. ‘But sure, go ahead. Turn Bludgeon’s recruitment process into a popularity contest. I’m sure he won’t mind at all once he finds out that he could have had Aerospace Commander Starscream by his side in the coming conflict. But no! Why take one of the most esteemed military leaders of our time when they’re – dare I say it – a “jerk”?’ He made a pair of finger-quotes to accentuate his point. Sooner or later, Cannonball had to break.

                Cannonball considered this. For a moment, the pirate began hovering his servo over some sort of switch or console off-screen. He stopped himself and grinned. ‘Oh, I see what’s going on.’ He chuckled, returning his servo to his chest. ‘You almost had me there, Screamer, but, heh, the great Captain Cannonball is not so easily fooled!’

                Starscream’s optical lids lowered. ‘Do you _always_ like to pretend that you know more than your tiny brain is capable of, or is this just one of those days?’

                ‘You’re playing your famous Starscream-sweet talking game, and it almost worked, I’ll give you that.’ He laughed again. ‘I commend you for the effort— but nah. Nice try, but you’re still not getting in.’

                Starscream leaned back his head, venting heavier and heavier with each breath. Finally, he shrieked. ‘YOU SINGLE-MINDED PIECE OF PLEBIAN—‘

\-----

                Obsidian, Strika, Thundercracker, and Slipstream sat in a circle around Starscream’s makeshift desk. They were told to wait outside as he dealt with the planet’s orbital garrison via his “tactical charm”. The four had in turn dealt each other a set of playing cards to pass the time.

                Strika stared at the door to the Captain’s office as Starscream’s voice shrieked a train curses. She already cared little for the game at hand, and Starscream losing his cool was a far greater source of entertainment for the Admiral. ‘He sounds mad.’ She said, finally. ‘Think we should do something?’

                Thundercracker placed down a card, his expression as stone-cold as ever. ‘He’ll get over himself in a minute or two. He always does.’

                Slipstream placed a card down sideways. ‘I summon Aggravated Celtic Guardian in defense mode.’

                Thundercracker massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘For the eleventh time, Slipstream, we’re playing Praxus Fold’em. _Not_ Yu-Gi-Oh, or whatever article it is you read on Wikipedia last night. Besides, you just played an ace of diamonds.’

                ‘Oh,’ Slipstream gathered her card once more and began sorting them in her hand aimlessly.

                Strika jabbed a brick-like finger at Slipstream. ‘Hey! You can’t take that back, that’s cheating! You’re cheating!’ She turned to Obsidian for support. ‘Obsidian, tell Slipstream she’s cheating.’

                ‘Stop cheating, Slipstream.’ Obsidian sat in his chair, perfectly relaxed. ‘Not that it matters much, anyway.’ His voice sang in rare content. ‘Slipstream’s mind isn’t what you’d call a threatening adversary in this game of wits.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, it doesn’t take a genius to see that.’

                Thundercracker eyed Obsidian’s cards carefully. He placed one of his own cards down in front of him. ‘You seem confident.’

                Obsidian blinked in faux-shock. ‘Do I? Funny. It’s as if I’m already a master at this game.’

                ‘I digi-volve Agumon into Wargreymon!’ Slipstream exclaimed, slamming another card against the table.

                ‘I can’t begin to tell you how wrong that is,’ Thundercracker mumbled, staring at his cards.

                Strika raised a single digit towards the Seeker, staring at her as if she were embarrassed by the whole ordeal. ‘Yeah, it’s not your turn. And it’s _Greymon_ that digi-volves into Wargreymon. Fool!’

                ‘Oh,’ Slipstream said.

                ‘As I said, Slipstream’s stupidity is of no consequence.’ Obsidian began laying down his cards. ‘I don’t mean to sound like Starscream – believe me, I don’t – but as the most acclaimed strategist and mathematician of the Decepticons, I can tell you right now with 99.78% certainty that I am going to win.’

                ‘He has a point,’ Strika said, staring at her cards. ‘I’ve never beaten him in cards. Granted, he’s never beaten me in arm-wrestling, but hey, nobody’s perfect.’ She shrugged.

                Thundercracker sighed, and turned to Slipstream, half-smiling. ‘I guess this means we never stood a chance, eh?’

                She lifted another card from her hand. ‘I summon—.’ But Thundercracker had already grabbed her by the wrist, slowly lowering the card back into her hand, head shaking.

                ‘Indeed,’ Obsidian grinned. ‘How many games have I gone without losing, Strika? 1,897,839, was it?’

                She let out a rumbling growl.

                ‘How about we make this number 1,897,839, yes?’

                ‘How about you die?’

                Obsidian chuckled to himself as Strika slammed her cards on the table.

                ‘That’s it,’ she declared. ‘I pass.’

                ‘Of course you do.’ Obsidian scanned the table. All that was left was Slipstream, sitting across from him.

                Thundercracker gently elbowed her in the rib. ‘Okay, idiot. _Now_ you can summon… Super Palutena—or whoever you have in mind.’

                Slipstream nodded. ‘O-kay. I summon…’ she set down her entire hand. ‘A full run.’

                The three other Decepticons stared at her, then at the cards, then back to her. Set neatly on the table, were the perfectly alphabetised cards required to pull off the perfect hand in the game. From 2-to-ace, Slipstream had won. Strika and Thundercracker stared, dumbfounded.

                Obsidian merely blinked. ‘Ah. You cheated.’

                She laughed, and looked at Thundercracker while pointing at Obsidian. ‘The floating snake thinks I’m a cheetah.’

                Thundercracker shook his head, wide-eyed. ‘Obsidian—I’d have said the same thing, really. But I’ve been able to see her hand since the very beginning. Granted, I didn’t actually pay attention to what she had in her hand, but I didn’t see her do anything considered cheating, believe it or not.’

                Strika nodded in agreement, but was no less shocked. ‘Obsidian… I think Slipstream just won.’

                Obsidian shook his head. He rose a trembling servo to his face. ‘No. That’s impossible—improbable, to be generous. I calculated the position of every possible card order within that deck. The possibility of her receiving that hand is—it’s…’

                ‘More than zero percent, though, yeah?’ Strika let out a roaring guffaw, content to see her partner in such a state. ‘Either you miscalculated—‘

                Obsidian was quick to take offense. ‘I did not.’

                ‘—or Slipstream just ended your 1,897,839 win-streak by _accident.’_

                Thundercracker allowed himself to chuckle softly, engrossed in Obsidian’s misfortune. Slipstream, who didn’t know what was so funny laughed robotically alongside of them, hoping to at least appear included.

                Obsidian would have jumped to his feet, should he have had feet. He elevated out of the chair, slamming his slimy fingers against the table, sending the cards jumping into the air for a millisecond. ‘NO!’ His voice croaked. If his age hadn’t shown before, then it certainly did now. His voice sounded suffocated, and his joints practically creaked as they shook with rage and disbelief. ‘My strategies are flawless—FLAWLESS! I’ve won millions of battles in the name of Cybertron—billions! I did _not_ just lose a game of cards to this—this handicapped!’

                Strika continued to laugh. She loved it when Obsidian lost his composure. It was cute. Thundercracker found a sick pleasure in it too, but he knew to be cautious. The Seeker raised the palm of his hand towards the strategist, holding in his laughter. ‘Calm down, Obsidian, it’s just a game.’

                ‘This has to be some kind of trick I—,’ he darted his head around, looking for a sign of a solution. ‘Full-Tilt! Full-Tilt, you crazy jester! This is another illusion, isn’t it? Another stream between dimensions! It has to be! Come out, Full-Tilt! Come out and explain how _I_ was the winner!’

                ‘Obsidian, I don’t think—‘

                He turned back to Slipstream, wide-eyed. ‘Oh, of course, _now_ I see.’ He leaned across the table and narrowed his eyes at the Seeker. ‘It’s all a ruse, isn’t it? You’re just _pretending_ to be stupid so you could get the drop on me. Come on, it’s alright to say. You’re really a genius, aren’t you?’

                Slipstream shrugged, and stuck out her tongue, drooping her head to the side. ‘I am a genius.’

                ‘Yes!’

                ‘I tricked you so that I could steal all your life-points and become a digi-destined.’

                ‘No!’

                She scratched the side of her head, and a piece of brain-matter fell out. ‘You just sailed down the slipstream on my ruse-cruse.’

                Strika immediately reached over the table and high-fived the Seeker.

                Obsidian grabbed either side of his head and roared, his aged voice cracking. ‘THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE! NONE OF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE!’

                Strika patted Slipstream on the back. ‘That should be your catchphrase from now on!’

                Slipstream nodded. ‘Yeah, “you should sip steam down the loose-moose”.’

                ‘I don’t think that’s what you said,’ Thundercracker corrected.

                ‘Eat beans in the deuce-goose.’

                Strika roared with laughter. ‘Whoa! It’s getting cooler each time you say it!’

                ‘You’re idiots.’ Thundercracker said matter-of-factly, leaning back in his chair and sipping from his glass of Energon.

                ‘Except for me!’ Obsidian injected himself back into the center of attention. ‘I’m not an idiot! I have proof that I’m not an idiot. Losing a card game to an idiot doesn’t make me an idiot? Right?’

                Thundercracker scowled at the strategist. ‘If you’re not an idiot, then you’re at least acting like a maniac for taking this whole event so seriously.’

                Obsidian opened his maw to reply, but quickly stopped himself. His body returned to its typically lax state, and his optics dimmed. ‘I—you’re right. I don’t know what came over me.’ The strategist dipped his head back and sighed. ‘Clearly there’s another solution to this predicament.’

                Obsidian hovered away, slowly from his chair, and reached into his belt. As slow as before, he pulled out a dark-green knife, raised it parallel to his face, and once again, slowly hovered towards Slipstream.

                The joke over, Strika jumped out of her seat, thrusted her arms under Obsidian’s armpits, and swung her lower arms back until her wrists pressed against his shoulders. The much larger Decepticon’s strength alone clamped Obsidian down, and restricted him from moving no matter how hard he struggled. Thundercracker in turn, stepped in front of Slipstream, ensuring Obsidian didn’t cause her any moreharm he’d have to inevitably fix.

                ‘Let me go, Strika! I need to make an example!’

                ‘You’re not killing Slipstream just because she beat you at cards.’ Thundercracker assured.

                ‘No, no. I’m only going to stab _myself_. That way I’ll have a constant reminder of my failure. Of my first failure in centuries!’

                Strika’s grip strengthened. ‘That’s nowhere near better, and you _know_ I’m not okay with that.’

                Obsidian dropped the knife. ‘Fine! No stabbing, now release me!’

                Strika did, and the strategist quickly slithered away, moving swiftly towards the corridor.

                Starscream came out of his office, just as Obsidian hovered by. A look of acceptance crossed his face, mixed with disappointed, his eyes lit up when he spotted his strategist. ‘Ah, Obsidian. Turns out Cannonball’s an idiot and I need ideas. I’ll be willing to listen in case you have any you’d be willing to share.’ He looked over at the others, spotting the tossed cards on the table. ‘I see you decided to play some Praxus Hold’em while I was busy.’

                Obsidian twirled around, and grabbed Starscream by the shoulders, shaking him violently. ‘WE DECIDED TO PLAY A LIE, STARSCREAM! We decided to play with a monument to compromise!’ He flung his servos in the air, wildly. ‘Frag ’em. Frag you people. Frag this whole thing, Starscream!’ He hovered along, exiting into the bridge, and disappearing out of sight.

                Dumbfounded, Starscream turned to the others, blinking at them through bulging optics. ‘What. Is. His. _Problem?’_

 _‘Aye…’_ Strika wandered over towards Starscream, scratching the back of her head tiredly, and staring down the open hallway of which her consort had left. ‘Sorry about that. Obsidian’s always been a sore loser. He’ll get over it soon.’

                Starscream followed her gaze, arching his lip in poisonously. ‘How soon?’

                ‘An hour at the least.’

                ‘At the least.’ Starscream’s shoulder’s sunk and his posture went slack. ‘If an hour is the least, then dare I ask how long I might have to wait at _the most?’_

‘Depends.’ Strika said, refusing to make eye-contact. ‘Last time this happened he was broody for a good century. Considering the circumstances…’ she hummed, ‘could be a week. Could be a few weeks—a month, even.’ She turned her head aside and muttered. ‘Could be never…’

                ‘Never.’ He flung his arms into the air. ‘Sure, why not?!’ He brought one servo down and pointed it at Strika. ‘Then until that floating freak gets his act together, I officially promote you, Admiral Strika, to second-in-command of Starscream’s Brigade.’

                ‘Sweet.’ She prepared a fist-pump, but stopped mid-way. Instead, she raised an incredulous brow at the Commander. ‘Wait, I thought Obsidian and I were equal rank. Are you saying I was third-in-command this entire time?’

                ‘No.’ Starscream said, looking up at her half-smiling. ‘Thundercracker was third in command. You’re fourth.’

                Her brow creased as she loomed over Starscream. Her intimidation tactics were a force of habit at this point, were she trying to intimidate or not, she tended to make herself look as big as possible when she was angry, and she was damn big already. ‘There were only four of us to begin with!’

                ‘Exactly!’ Starscream turned around, and made his way towards the nearest monitor display. ‘Now, on to the task at hand. I’m afraid they’re not letting us past their orbital defenses. As Obsidian is being a little dipstick, and Thundercracker is worthless— I’m seeking _your_ council, Strika.’ He looked over his shoulder, eyeing Strika expectantly. ‘So, what do you suggest?’

                She shrugged. ‘Destroy their defenses and drive straight through.’

                Thundercracker showed his palms to the two hesitantly. ‘ _Or_ we could try something a little less suicidal.’

                ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Strika glared down at him like a pet that was misbehaving. ‘If we can’t use words, and we can’t sneak past without being detected, then we push through. _Make_ them accept us.’

                ‘And if they _don’t_ accept us?’

                She stared at him as if the answer were obvious. ‘Then we kill them all. Don’t take me for an idiot, Thundercracker, I’m not one. Sure, me suggesting that we charge guns-blazing plays along with the big, tough-girl cliché…’ she looked up at Starscream. ‘But I knowwe’re all full of surprises—take it from words of experience, I’ve won a hell of a lot of battles through brute strength alone. Sometimes muscle comes over mind. Sometimes, examples have to be made.’

                Starscream nodded thoughtfully. ‘Indeed.’ He placed his servos against the console, and tapped in a set of commands into the Nemesis.

                ‘I just hope you both know what you’re doing.’ Thundercracker said. ‘But what do I know? I’m worthless.’

                ‘Indeed.’ Starscream repeated himself in the same tone of voice.

                When no one paid him any attention, Thundercracker sighed. ‘Can I at least request permission to ask Obsidian for his opinion?’

                ‘Denied.’

                ‘Why?’

                ‘Because you’ll be too busy holding on to something.’

                ‘What? Why would I do that?’

                Starscream turned around, wearing a wide smile that spelt out how pleased he was with himself. ‘Because I just fired the Nemesis’s entire payload at Bludgeon’s orbital defense.’

                The ship shot forward as its engines roared ablaze. Firing and gunning madly for the planet, metal and explosions rippled across the flagship’s frame as it pressed through. It stomached a wall of debris before entering the planet’s atmosphere, firing its last remaining missiles in the process. The blackness of space had soon brightened into a bright blue sky as the Nemesis escaped the railgun’s fire.

                Thundercracker and the others were unfortunately flung across the ship, face planting into the front-window like bugs on a wind-shield. Starscream had conveniently jettisoned himself, flying alongside the ship, free of dents or bruises. The city could be seen from below, glinting like a shard of crystal sticking out of a crack in the desert plain.

                ‘Now comes the hard part.’ Starscream said to himself. ‘Now comes diplomacy.’

\-----

 

Krok stood at the foot of Bludgeon’s “throne”. Really, it was just a platform of which Bludgeon would squat upon for when he felt like polishing his blade or meditating when he had the chance. At this point, it appeared to be both. Krok cleared his throat to announce his presence.

                Bludgeon remained fixated on his blade. ‘Tell me he’s dead.’

                ‘He’s dead...’ Though Bludgeon was aware that he was lying, Krok thought it best to do as he was told anyway. ‘Seriously though, I’m afraid we hit another roadblock.’

                The commander let out a sickly groan. ‘What _now?_ ’

                ‘I did as you asked and sent my team to intercept, but…’

                ‘“But”? Please, Krok. I know you said your team was incompetent, but surely they couldn’t have failed in simple observatory work.’ He raised his head. ‘I trust your leadership abilities too much to believe that.’

                Krok tilted his head to the side. ‘Unfortunately, this was not the case. My team observed the Ark just as it made planet-fall towards a heavily fortified Autobot stronghold. The one we’ve been trying to stay on good terms with, to be exact.’

                Bludgeon nodded regretfully. ‘Ahh… “Team Elita”’s domain. That’s disappointing. I was almost certain they’d uphold our truce. You know, they really did seem like the kind of reasonable people who’d accept peace over war.’

                ‘Autobots will be Autobots,’ Krok shrugged.

                ‘True.’ Bludgeon stood up, returning his blade to his hip. ‘Keep your team positioned for now. I’d like to keep the peace for a little while longer. After all, it’s not like Prime can stay holed up in there forever.’

                ‘And if they do?’

                Bludgeon blinked, as if the answer to Krok’s question was obvious. ‘If they’re still in there within another 24 hours, then we flay the esteemed Team Elita, and take back our prize.’

                Krok bowed his head. ‘Understood. I’ll inform the others to remain on standby until further notice.’      

                As Bludgeon’s second in command turned around to leave, he felt a cool hand slap his shoulder.

                ‘Wait,’ Bludgeon said, gripping down on Krok’s armoured plating. ‘I want to show you something.’ The Decepticon raised his hand above his head and snapped his fingers. The wide, cylindrical room began to split apart. Panels shifting and lowering, revealing a wider, glass dome that contained the room within. As the walls disappeared, Krok found himself exposed to the scenery surrounding the citadel. From where they stood, it was as if they were floating high above the city’s landscape, bearing witness to the remains from the highest point on the planet. The Crystal City’s mile high skyscrapers and destroyed architecture seemed to stretch out forever, like a large scar zigzagging across the planet’s surface.

                Bludgeon slapped Krok on the shoulder once again. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

                ‘It is,’ Krok said, considering each word, trying to avoid giving the wrong answer.

                This time, Bludgeon slapped him in the back of the head. Krok took the punishment in silence; he knew to accept anything Bludgeon inflicted upon him. Any sign of rebellion would be considered “treason,” after all.

                ‘Of course not, idiot. I was testing you, and you failed.’ He strode across the platform, reaching the edge of the glass dome, and staring out towards the horizon. ‘This city is in ruins—demolished beyond its former brilliance.’ He shook his fists towards the disaster displayed in front of him. ‘There was an artistic masterpiece strewn across this very spot a mere couple of months ago, and yet someone had the… the _nerve_ to soil it!’ He shook his head. ‘I _told_ Dai Atlas that this would happen… I respected him like I would any guardian, but I always told him, and I always _knew,_ that he’d fail this city.’

                Krok wandered towards him, taking his side as he viewed the city. He managed to catch the hint of a scowl under Bludgeon’s torn-up face.

                ‘He was literally too good for the world. He became Lieutenant Commander of the Autobots and surely could have become their leader, that is, until he saw the greater value of this city. He turned this place into a utopia, as it was always meant to be, but when he refused to accept military support… I knew that the moment some Autobot or Decepticon decided they wanted the city for themselves, Dai Atlas would crumble. He was such…’ He raised a boney hand to his face, and began prodding the hanging wires that escaped his maw, ‘…an idiot. The Primal Pentateuch clearly defined power as its central theme—that it is our duty as Cybertronians to exercise our power upon anyone who defies Primus’ will. To continue to grow to our fullest potential, and to protect the city of the Primes as a collective! Not to defend it in the name of friendship or whatever nonsense Atlas came up with when it was his time. That’s just stupid.’

                ‘Of course.’ Krok took another step closer to his leader. ‘Your future beckons true peace for Cybertronians.’

                Bludgeon nodded, pleased by how his subordinate appeared to understand. ‘Indeed.’ He turned to the city once again. ‘While I mourn the death of Atlas—if he really _is_ dead, that is – the destruction of this city and the disappearance of the Circle of Light _does_ open up some grand possibilities for me.’

                ‘And once you kill the Prime…’

                ‘Then by my unquestionable leadership, I can turn the entire Decepticon army into the Crystal City’s new guard. An entire work-force tasked with guarding and re-building the City from scratch. With the rest of this inferior Galaxy left for the Autobots, I imagine our war would end soon after. Dai Atlas’s Utopia will be fully realized, only this time, should the Autobots attack, we will be ready.’

                Krok chuckled quietly. ‘This is why I follow you, Lord Bludgeon.’

                Bludgeon placed a gentle servo on Krok’s shoulder. ‘You are loyal Krok. If only I could say the same about the others…’

                ‘You mean Gutcruncher?’

                ‘Oh I’m sure he’s calculating the prices of my knee joints as we speak. But it’s Banzaitron who I expect to crack first. He thinks I’m an idiot.’ He tapped the side of his helm knowingly. ‘But I know a mask when I see one. I could tell his faith was fake the moment he walked through my doors.’

                ‘Then what do you recommend?’

                ‘Nothing for now. Outside of Cannonball’s pirates, we’re awfully low in numbers.’ He stopped to examine his blade once more. ‘We can’t make examples of _all_ of them, after all.’ He tilted his head. ‘Still. Even if they _did_ try to pull something against me, the odds are completely out of their favour. The only possible way for them to overcome us is if they had—.’

                A loud crash exploded from outside the tower’s walls. Without a word, Bludgeon transformed into his heavily armed, tank-mode and began accelerating out of his quarters. Krok followed, transforming into his stealth-jet form, and flying over-head. Bludgeon rushed out into the corridor, and towards the balcony. Disregarding the safety rail, he drove off the side of the Citadel, transforming mid-air, and plummeting towards the base below. Sticking out his sword, Bludgeon stuck it deep into the tower’s outer wall, said a prayer, and slowed his descent until he was close enough to the ground that he could direct his fall without injury. He withdrew his blade, and transformed again, landing on his treads and boosting towards the plume of smoke rising above the city’s landscape.

                _Not again._ Bludgeon thought to himself. _Please, not another attack. We’re not ready yet. Please don’t let them attack again now._ He found the source of the sound at the city’s rim. Cannonball’s team, and to a lesser extent, Krok’s, surrounded it, aiming their weaponry at it suspiciously. It was a Nemesis-class warship, banged up and scarred, but it had evidently survived worse. _But there is only one in existence…_ Bludgeon recalled. _Who the hell could possibly be in charge of THAT_?

He had his answer soon enough, as a sleek tri-jet descended from the sky. Limbs sprouted, and parts tucked away as Aerospace Commander Starscream made his graceful landing at the nose of the ship.

                _Of course._

‘Hello!’ Starscream laughed. ‘It seems our invitation got lost in the mail!’ Several guns were aimed at the Seeker’s face, though they seemed to amuse him more than intimidate him like they were supposed to. ‘No worries—we let _ourselves_ in!’

                A large, armed satellite appeared in the distance, plummeting towards the ground in a trail of smoke. The railgun unit spun in the air, firing aimlessly before crashing and burning in a large fireball behind the Nemesis. It was the effect Starscream was going for, no doubt.

                While it caught the attention of the others, Bludgeon’s was directed towards a shifting hatch from the Nemesis’ cockpit. It bolted open, and the forms of Strika, Slipstream, and Thundercracker rolled out, dazed and battered. All three were puking Energon and staining the white sands with pinks and blacks. Starscream clapped a hand against his face in embarrassment, but Bludgeon paid no heed to it.

                Starscream raised his head, locking eyes with the city’s defender. ‘Now then, you wouldn’t happen to be hiring, would you?’


	39. Robbed Blind

Slipstream began side-stepping furiously. It was as if she were doing some kind of elaborate dance as she prepared her approach.

                ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Thundercracker asked, grabbing her by the shoulder and holding her still.

                ‘I’m doing a dance to distract our opponents! Watch—they’ll be too mesmerized to move!’

                She prepared to resume her dance, only for Thundercracker to hold her still once again. ‘I don’t think that’s going to work.’

                ‘Yeah, no, trust me, I saw this done in wrestling.’ She took a step forward, and a stray gunshot hit the ground by her feet. The brain-damaged Seeker leaped back and yelped, hiding behind Strika. ‘I can’t believe it…’ she muttered, grimly. ‘Professional wrestling… _lied_ to me.’

                Arms spread, Starscream jumped down from the Nemesis’ hull to ground level, approaching the cautious Decepticons with an air of security. ‘Hey, come on! It’s me— Starscream!’

                Bludgeon raised his blade, leveling the tip with Starscream’s throat. ‘Which is exactly why you’re not coming any closer.’

Starscream dropped his guard. ‘Seriously, Bludgeon? You too?’ He advanced forward, grumbling to himself in disappointment. ‘Does no one on this planet trust me? Not even in the slightest?’

                Heads turned away, and Starscream massaged his optical lids, muttering something to himself.

                Bludgeon took a step forward, edging the tip of his blade closer and closer to Starscream’s mid-section. ‘Word of advice, Starscream, if you want to make friends with someone, then you probably shouldn’t destroy their nine-million credit orbital railguns to do make it known.’

                ‘I had no choice!’ Starscream yelled. ‘Your buddy Cannonball refused to let me in. I had no other choice but to improvise!’

                Bludgeon scowled, facing his captain. Cannonball had shrunken his shoulders, trying to shrink out of sight. ‘Cannonball,’ Bludgeon snorted, ‘why didn’t you bring this to my attention?’

                Cannonball covered the top of his head, ducking away from a possible blow. ‘I mean—I was _going_ to. I just thought— well, it’s not like we were going to let him through anyway, so—’

                ‘But that’s all in the past, eh, Bludgey?’ Starscream spread his arms wide, and his brigade began to form around him. ‘If you ask me, I’d say the destruction of your railgun is the perfect resume on my part.’

                Bludgeon frowned. He had no idea what he was talking about.

                ‘Think about it, if _I_ can breach your defenses with one ship, then how do you expect an Autobot armada to fair?’

                ‘We’re well defended.’

                Starscream looked around. There were maybe twenty armed bodies surrounding him. ‘Heheh.’ Had he saved his ammunition, the Nemesis could have eviscerated them all, and he was a little disappointed it didn’t. ‘But seriously, Bludgeon. I’m _offering_ to serve you. Me, Strika, Obsidian, Slipstream, Thundercracker… we’re all here to serve you in exchange for a high spot on your new council _— an_ d to get revenge on Optimus Prime for his misdeeds.’

                Bludgeon raised a digit to his chin in thought.

                ‘You know what we’re capable of, so why not take it while you have the chance? I would.’

                Bludgeon raised a servo, and motioned the others to drop their guard. ‘I would love to take your ship, Starscream, _and_ your forces, and even _you._ But…’ he sliced the air with his sword, and approached the Seeker with no means restraint in his stride. ‘I know your reputation. You’re a liar, you have no sense of loyalty and every single choice you ever made in your miserable life was made with the express purpose of benefitting yourself!’

                Starscream shrugged, his smile flickering. ‘Well… mostly, yeah. What’s so wrong about that?’

                ‘You’ve a history of abandoning your comrades, selling them for scrap, and using the failures of others to boost your own position. I know when I am being deceived. So _why,_ Starscream. Out of all the Decepticons in the Universe you could rob blind, why me?’

                Starscream began stepping backwards as Bludgeon advanced. His face, however, was as determined as ever. ‘Because you and I share a common goal, believe it or not.’

                ‘What could I possibly have in common with you?’

                Starscream smirked, there it was. ‘Sunstorm.’

                Bludgeon froze.

                ‘Optimus Prime murdered Sunstorm—in case you didn’t already know. He was one of my Seekers— one of my friends. I understand he was very important to you and your city, and I wish to band our forces together so that we can exact revenge against the bastard who did this.’

                Bludgeon’s eyes went dull behind the holes of his mask. He sighed, and a waft of steam escaped the wires hanging from his jaw. ‘What makes Sunstorm so special to you? I served and worshipped him as the potential messiah he was, but you... you don’t have any friends, Starscream. What makes him any more important to you than the rest of your mass produced seeker-soldiers?’

                ‘Because he was a reliable soldier, and a genius at his craft.’ He relaxed. ‘He had the ability to set anything he touched ablaze. As a military commander, it only stood to reason that I would take an interest in his abilities, and eventually, an interest in him. Now that he’s dead, my brigade and I thought it best that we join forces with someone bearing a mutual respect for the mech.’

                Some of Cannonball’s troops nodded in agreement. Others scoffed, looking to Bludgeon for an answer. Bludgeon stood still, muttering something under his breath.

                ‘So, do we have a deal?’ Starscream asked when no one else would.

                Bludgeon raised his head, and advanced once again. ‘We do. My master – my _former_ master – would no doubt have wanted our forces to unite in the name of Primus and the messiah in flames. You and your team will serve this city alongside the rest of us.’

                Starscream backed away once again. ‘Fantastic! I’ll go grab my—‘

                ‘But first,’ Bludgeon waved his blade in front of his face, taking a fighting stance, ‘I think that in the event you try something… in-character, I should make a preliminary example of you. Just as Megatron had done, many, many, times in the past.’

                Starscream raised his servos on defense. ‘No, really, we’re… cool! I’ll just just park the Nemesis into a more comfortable position and—‘

                But Bludgeon had already made the first move. In one motion, Bludgeon had sliced his blade across Starscream’s chest, leaving a wide, sparkling gash where it left off. Grabbing the wound with one hand, Starscream activated a null-ray with his other, but before he could fire a shot, Bludgeon had already chopped at his wrist, cutting his hand clean off. Bludgeon swiped the liquid from his blade. ‘Primus Pentateuch, chapter nine, sub-section six, paragraph eight: In accordance to the will of the Ultimate Warrior, meaning lies in the power one possesses, as does their ability to inflict that power onto others.’ He prepared another strike. ‘And nobody possesses as much power as me.’

                Strika took a step forward from her position, but Thundercracker had already blocked her path with a wave of his arm. She barely offered a glance towards the Seeker. ‘He’s going to kill him, Thundercracker.’

                ‘Just trust me—trust _him_ ,’ Thundercracker said, watching as Starscream gutted another hit. ‘He knows what he’s doing.’

                Teeth gritted, Starscream prepared his remaining servo to strike Bludgeon in the chest. The hit barely connected, however, as Bludgeon was already up in the air, leaping high above Starscream and carving his blade in a wide-arc, severing Starscream’s other limb from his body. With no options left, Starscream transformed, only for Bludgeon to appear above him, swinging down his blade and cutting through Starscream’s mid-section before he could power his thrusters take off. Starscream painfully transformed back into his robot-mode and onto his front, spluttering and heaving as he wiggled in the sand. Bludgeon kicked him over and drew his sword again, slashing and stabbing into Starscream’s chest. Starscream kicked and yelled in pain, but despite of this, Bludgeon’s blows were aimed with enough precision that none of them would be fatal.

                ‘STOP!’ Starscream shrieked. ‘Please—master! Stop! I beg of you!’

And Bludgeon did. A wide grin forming underneath his skull-like mask. Starscream was shivering and groveling to him, just as he did with Megatron many, many times in the past.

                ‘I’ll do whatever you please! I—I’m sorry for anything I have done, just please, please, spare my life!’ Liquid was spilling from the opened stab wounds across his frame, he was in dire need of medical attention. That was obvious.

                Bludgeon withdrew his blade, satisfied with his handy-work. He looked up at Thundercracker and Strika. The two stared at him through cold, unfeeling optics. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Slipstream was on the ground, cackling to herself like a madwoman, but she didn’t seem to be an important figure either way. His eyes remained on Strika. ‘You!’ he shouted. ‘Do either of you have any medical practise under your belt?’

                Thundercracker nodded to him. ‘Aye, I do.’ He beckoned Strika, and the two approached their cowering leader. ‘Think you can help me with this, Strika?’

                ‘Indeed.’ The large femme picked up Starscream, and hurled him over her shoulder.

                Bludgeon nodded to them. ‘Good, make sure he’s battle-ready. I’ll have Cannonball take care of your ship from here. Ferak in particular will want to make some changes right away, I can tell.’

                From inside the Nemesis, Obsidian finally emerged, massaging the side of his head as if he had woken with a banging hangover. He stopped next to Slipstream, blinking as the sun strained his eyes. ‘Urgh, Slipstream? What the bloody hell is going on? I had an awful dream where you beat me in cards, and Starscream had some insane idea of ramming the Nemesis through—.’ Suddenly, he came to his senses. He became aware of Bludgeon, and Starscream, and the tens of Decepticons as they began flooding into the Nemesis. ‘What the hell?’

                Bludgeon caught sight of Obsidian and smiled. ‘Ah, Obsidian!’ He quickly bounded over to the strategist and patted him on the back. ‘I can’t tell you how great it is to see you under my command once again. You were a fantastic advisor during the war.’

                ‘Eh?’

                ‘Oh Obsidian, we have much to discuss…’

\-----

                Thundercracker felt sick, seeing these strangers running through the corridors, taking down the ugly self-portraits Starscream had set along the walls. Well, he didn’t mind that, but the larger company did put him on edge. He was already less than thrilled in the presence of Obsidian and Strika and—

                ‘Starscream got riggity, riggity, wrecked!’

                --and Slipstream. But to have an army of gun-toting pirates and bounty hunters? It wasn’t what Thundercracker considered a good time. And besides, he almost _liked_ the little five-man crew he was a part of, Skywarp or no. Pirates aside, Starscream wouldn’t stop moaning. He knew why, but it didn’t excuse his behaviour. It became annoying really fast. Slipstream was joyfully playing with his arms as they entered the medical bay, and Starscream only moaned louder as she began banging his own fists against his head.

                The moment the doors closed behind them, the act was over. Starscream ceased his moaning, and began wriggling in Strika’s grasp. ‘Let go of me you big oaf.’

                Strika dropped her leader and raised her hands above her head. ‘Whoa, touchy.’

                Starscream landed firmly on his feet, worked his pedes, and made a bee-line for Slipstream. ‘Give them back.’

                Slipstream waved his hands back and forth in a mocking gesture. ‘Gee, Starscream, it’s not often you come to _me_ for help. Could it be that you’re asking me for a … _hand?’_ She cackled to herself, and Strika joined in.

                ‘Hahah, hilarious.’ Starscream head-butted Slipstream in the face, cracking her head backwards, splattering a plume of moistened brain-matter, and sending her crashing to the floor. ‘Now give me back my damn arms.’

                On her back, Slipstream raised the pair of limbs up above her head. Starscream reached for them, then sighed. ‘Dammit.’ He bent forward, attempted grabbing his arms with his teeth, gave up, and snapped. ‘Thundercracker!’

                The blue Seeker sighed and snatched the limbs from Slipstream. Starscream sat on the work-bench as Thundercracker began manually reattaching his limbs. Starscream’s head was leaned back with his optics closed.

                It was Strika who was the first to speak. ‘So all of that back there, the losing, the crying—it was all an act?’

                Starscream’s head sprang up. ‘Of course it was an act you idiot. You think I would actually grovel like that? To _Bludgeon?_ ’ He laughed, pleased to hear that his act seemed genuine.

                Strika shrugged.

                ‘Of course I wouldn’t! Bludgeon’s smart to suspect our disloyalty, but I’m the genius here, not him.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Bludgeon loves to think he’s right, and he’ll believe anything that massages his dogma. He believes that he’s dominated me—that by exercising his power onto me, I can do him no harm.’ His grin widened. ‘I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes just how wrong he is.’

                ‘It must have been hard,’ Thundercracker said passively. His gaze was focused on his work at hand. ‘To put yourself out like that—it must have been hard to grovel the way people say you do.’ But Thundercracker had to admit he secretly enjoyed the show. He’d call it a short respite for all the times Starscream had dominated him.

                ‘Oh don’t get me wrong, it was an absolute embarrassment.’ Starscream closed his eyes and shook his head, as if to abandon the thought. ‘But as you know, I am a very selfless kind of guy. I’ve got to make _some_ sacrifices _._ ’

                ‘You’re a pretty damn good actor,’ Strika agreed. ‘I could have sworn those tears were real when I saw them.’

                Starscream laughed. ‘Well, you know—years of practise.’

                Slipstream tilted her head to the side. She was still on the floor. ‘Wait, you’ve spent years of practise… what? Years of practise _crying_?’

                Starscream blinked. ‘What? No! I didn’t— why would you even say that?’

                She nodded, snickering. ‘Yeah, I’d believe it. You’re definitely the kind to cry himself to sleep every night. Heh. No wonder you were so convincing. Hahah!’

                ‘What kind?! That’s not the—‘

                ‘Were those tears real, perhaps?’ Strika pondered, grinning.

                ‘They were not!’

                Slipstream began rolling on the floor, chuckling loudly. ‘Look at me, I’m Starscream, a bloo, bloo, bloo!’

                Starscream slammed his now-functional fist against the slab, paused, realized he _had_ a fist, and then quickly remembered why he was mad. ‘I am Aerospace Commander Starscream! I have killed more people than you’ve spoken to, and I am capable of killing everyone in this room with my bare hands!’ he paused. ‘As soon as I have both of my hands re-attached!’

                ‘He’s right,’ said Thundercracker, waving Starscream’s remaining hand as if it were his own. ‘Starscream sacrificed a lot today.’

                Starscream leaned his head back. ‘ _Thank you,_ Thundercracker.’

                The seeker grinned. ‘Just look at the poor guy. Back in Vos we used to call him Sobscream because he’d cry to himself whenever the boss yelled at him. Imagine the ocean of tears coming tonight now that he’s had to put up with your petty _name-calling._ ’

                Strika and Slipstream bent over, holding their guts laughing.

                Starscream responded with a roar. ‘Thundercracker, you betrayed me!’

                Despite of his seething rage, and the mocking gestures of his comrades Starscream remembered something vital. Obsidian was nowhere to be found.

\-----

                Obsidian was tired, he had a headache, and he was in the presence of one of the most powerful Decepticons in the Universe. But to stroke his own ego, he had managed to work out the situation in his head within minutes. Starscream had no doubt succeeded in combining their forces as planned, however he seemed to have struck a nerve of some kind, as last he saw of his commander, he was covered in stab-wounds. A display that gave him a sliver of satisfaction, but of course, that was not to last. He needed to focus. Bludgeon was walking alongside him, no doubt content that a figure of such authority was on his side for once. Where they were going, Obsidian didn’t know, but he knew better to prod. Bludgeon was one of those rare cases of Leader that was great with words, but never at managing a conversation. One wrong word and he could jump to conclusions that would be inconceivable to an inexperienced mind. He knew Bludgeon from long ago, back when Bludgeon was just a low-ranked troop under Snarler’s supervision. Of course, Obsidian went by a different name, and wore a slightly altered body type, but he was still considered “old” at the time. In contrast, Bludgeon was quite young back then, and quite different. As a common foot-soldier, he was never the charismatic speaker he was now. Back then he was dead quiet, never talking to anyone, only ever caught practising his martial arts and studying his religious literature. The moment he needed to fit the role of leader, he took it, and he did so masterfully. He adopted a persona and language designed to motivate troops and pull them to his side. A convincing display, but Obsidian knew his mind was as dead as this city; nothing more than a machine working in accordance to the Primal Pentateuch. He almost reminded him of Shockwave, but then, everyone knows what happened to _him._

                Krok was among them, filing a report in a hushed tone to his leader. Bludgeon wasn’t having any of it. ‘Give me a straight answer, Krok. _Please._ ’

                ‘I thought he’d contact you before entering the city, but…’

                ‘Your men said they saw him,’ Bludgeon snarled. ‘So _enlighten_ me, is he in our city, or not?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Then why hasn’t he called me yet? I asked for his assistance months ago and yet he hasn’t even bothered to register himself? Who does that?’

                ‘I wouldn’t know, Lord Bludgeon.’

                _Ah. “Lord”, he calls him. Interesting._

                ‘Then…’ he sighed, massaging his forehead tiredly. ‘Then send somebody to find him and get some answers. That will be all.’

                ‘As you command.’ Krok nodded, and ducked away down a branching corridor.

                Bludgeon promptly turned his attention to Obsidian and forced a smile beneath his beard of wires. ‘Sorry about that. Duty calls, as they say. I was suspicious of Starscream at first because—well, you know.’ He waved the matter away with a flick of his hand. ‘But to see that you’re with us – and Strika as well, of course – well, it will certainly boost the morale around here. Good to have you.’

                Obsidian nodded, unsure of how to take the praise. He had received praise several times in the past, but Bludgeon was a tricky one to read. He decided to discard the matter entirely. ‘I am yours to command.’

                ‘Yes… yes you are.’

                They Citadel was flooded with winding passageways and lengthy corridors that never seemed to end. He could tell it was once a heavily populated complex, but after the mysterious genocide that took place in the blink of an eye, the hallways became barren save for him and Bludgeon. He almost felt bad for what happened to Bludgeon’s beloved home. He felt bad about the destruction of any lasting case of Cybertron culture. But he wasn’t about to give sentimentality a try any time soon. Bludgeon was as quiet as ever, and Obsidian didn’t like it. They began descending a flight of stairs, eventually moving underground. This did not feel safe.

                ‘You said you had something you wished to discuss?’

                ‘Sorry?’

                ‘At the city’s border. You said—’

                Bludgeon raised his index finger, as if suddenly remembering. ‘Ah, yes. I nearly forgot. We will discuss assault plans when the time is right. First, I want to enlighten you on a few parables—to grant you some _context_ on the matter. What I’m about to show you, Obsidian, is the key to our victory.’

                Obsidian picked out what he knew and listed them for Bludgeon. ‘I understand you obtained the Ark’s serial number.’

                ‘I did!’ Lights brightened overhead as they stepped down onto a flat surface. They were now walking through a dingy stretch of corridor, illuminated by dirty lights that were in need of polishing. Obsidian guessed it to be a dungeon. Bludgeon’s eyes seemed to smirk with pride, though Obsidian was unsure whether that was a part of the act or not. ‘Unfortunately we hit a few roadblocks. Primarily, the fact that someone had already beaten us to the punch.’

                Now that was something Obsidian hadn’t heard of. ‘Mind my asking who?’

                Bludgeon waved a servo and spat. ‘An Autobot. A nobody. They had some kind of personal vendetta against Prime and sought to grab his serial number for themselves. I imagine they wanted to set the police on him, only to unwittingly take away what they needed to track him in the first place. Our now-prisoner exported all 50,000 digits of code into their processor, and while we’ve been unable to process it, nor find a copy of it anywhere in the Quintessons’ computers, it took just a little prodding to force them into remotely accessing the nearest Spacebridge signal and pointing us in the right direction.’

                ‘Prodding?’ The moment Obsidian said it, he understood.

                ‘I don’t need to sugar-coat anything for you, Obsidian. What I mean is torture. We tortured them into giving us what we want. I know you understand the necessity for it—surely you’ve seen plenty it during the wars.’

                For a split second, Obsidian’s rotors ceased, and he dipped just out of Bludgeon’s periphery. Of course he knew the necessity of torture. He had tortured thousands of Autobots, Thetacons, Novacons, and even fellow Decepticons in the past. But that was before Operation Brigadier. His greatest failure. What they did to—it was injustice at its finest, the most redundant form of atrocity and destruction he had ever witnessed. Now regular destruction and genocide to Obsidian was “unfortunate” (the entire war was “unfortunate”), but acceptable as long as it had a purpose, he had committed plenty of it, but it was the meaninglessness of the act that truly horrified him. He remembered running… running… and finding nothing but dead. It was the reason why he would never let himself lose anything ever again. He croaked a response. ‘Yes.’

                As they reached the end of the corridor, Bludgeon stopped and hovered a hand over the door-panel. ‘Listen… Obsidian.’ He turned to the strategist, eyes cold. ‘You understand my motives, yes? When I receive leadership, the war will be over. Theopany will become a new Cybertron—the Decepticon army will become its garrison, and the Galaxy will remain untouched should we remain unprovoked.’

                Obsidian nodded.

                ‘Cybertron will be made anew. Under one guidance, under one power, and under Primus’ guiding light. Through the forging of our military strength and power, Cybertron will know eternal peace.’

                ‘You have no need to convince me,’ Obsidian said assuredly. ‘I am here to serve you for a reason.’

                Obsidian’s words were calculated and fabricated almost too perfectly, but somewhere inside himself, he spoke the truth. A new Cybertron… of course, Theopany would never be the real Cybertron, but an exact replica was just as enticing. In a way, Bludgeon’s goal matched his own. A living, breathing, Cybertron; guarded by a Cybertronian race united. Its culture revitalized… its glory seeping from the scars and fissures of a broken race of mechanoids. Of course, Bludgeon was not what Obsidian would consider a realistic leader, nor did Obsidian find the idea of being forced into any hard core religious practices desirable, even if he already was a minor practitioner himself. Cybertron, after all, was a haven of many diverse cultures and beliefs. To oppress it under one definitive ideology... Obsidian made a mental shrug. It was still better than whatever would happen should someone like Soundwave or Ratbat take command. Dare he say the same about Starscream? He pondered this for a moment. Perhaps it would be best to take to the side-lines once Starscream began his assault. Let him prove to Obsidian that he’d make a craftier leader than Bludgeon on his own. It would be an interesting test of will, no doubt, but regardless of who came out on top, Obsidian would always have his final gambit under his sleeve, and he wasn’t about to abandon his heavily calculated plan quite yet. After all, nobody’s rule lasts forever.

                His mandibles parted into a grin.

_Not yet, anyway._

                Bludgeon was fiddling with the door. He was having trouble, and was not ready to ask his minions to open up for him. He grumbled irritably as he pricked the lock. He had evidently not noticed Obsidian’s day-dreaming under the frustration of opening the door to the cell-block.

 _Thank Primus for jammed doors._ Obsidian mused.

                ‘Oh, forget it.’ Bludgeon whipped his blade from his waist and made a quick motion, slicing between the door’s hinges. The door automatically swayed open, revealing the room within. It was a long, dark hallway lined with dozen of cell doors. Obsidian couldn’t see the end of it, but he assumed there were more down the line. The walls were charred something black, and there were a few cells left wide open. Obsidian assumed the Autobots or whoever destroyed this city had raided the cell-block as well. That would make sense, of course, except for one odd small incidental that stood out. Why would the long-since destroyed Crystal City’s wounded lay still living and bleeding on the floor? Across the torched metal hallway laid several dead and wounded Decepticons. There was a fight here, and it was recent.

                Bludgeon withdrew his blade and scuffled next to the nearest body. The Decepticon’s legs had been shot off, and they had been crawling slowly to the door, leaving a trail of black skid-marks behind them. Bludgeon slapped them across the face, waking the damaged robot out of their trance. ‘Bugly!’ He spat. ‘Bugly, can you hear me?’

                The big, white and purple Decepticon let out an oily cough. ‘Blud—Bludge…?’

                ‘What in the name of Logos Prime happened here?!’ Quickly, his eyes widened, and is head darted upwards. ‘Is the prisoner safe? Is the prisoner still within our possession?!’

                Bugly shook his head, sorrowfully. He had failed his job.

                Bludgeon shook him violently. ‘Do not tell me the prisoner escaped—they were no larger than my _thigh_ for crying out loud—they cannot have bared any supernatural elements without my knowing of it!’

                ‘Someone came—stole the prisoner… killed some of us—‘

                Bludgeon brought his fist down upon Bugly’s head, slamming it into the floor and leaving a large dent in the back of his helm. He stood up, and marched towards Obsidian, disgusted. ‘Obsidian, get Thundercracker and Ferak. I want them to salvage every living pile of scrap in this room and turn them into working, capable soldiers by noon. Inform Starscream, Slipstream, and whatever other Seeker you have available at your disposal. Tell them to scour the city for our little pest. The orbital railguns won’t allow them to escape, but that won’t stop them from hiding from justice.’ He shook his head, making his way back out of the corridor in long strides. Far from the dramatic presentation he had built up beforehand. ‘They better not have killed them. This thief dares commit such blasphemy against the city’s will? Against the will of Primus? They will no doubt burn in the flames of the Pit for this. Oh yes…’

Obsidian bowed his head, hurrying along past Bludgeon and towards his duties. His pace slowed as soon as he was outside of the Citadel, and out of Bludgeon’s sight.

 _I suppose this means we’re done here._ Obsidian thought to himself. They could easily pack their bags and go, still, it would probably be best to get Starscream’s opinion on the matter first. Perhaps Starscream was better candidate for leader than Bludgeon after all, considering the current state of affairs, Obsidian almost felt proud. He transformed into his helicopter mode and took off. He would talk to Starscream first, but there was someone else he needed to meet with as well. Someone Starscream, nor Bludgeon could know about.  


 

 

 

 

 


	40. Talking to Oneself

Docking took longer than expected, or preferred, at that, but Optimus had no complaints. In fact he had nothing to say whatsoever. He was too busy trying to ignore the large figure hovering over his shoulder.

                Blackarachnia wasn’t as willing to be quiet. ‘Is that it?’ She cawed, legs draped over the side of the couch. Her head rested on the flat metal surface a level lower. ‘Can we go and meet these “old-friends” of yours already and get it over with? I swear my backside is starting to cave in from all this sitting and waiting. I don’t like it.’

                ‘You ought to learn a thing or two about patience,’ Ironhide grunted in her general direction. His optics were focused on polishing his ballista knives. Not that he was ever going to use them. It just gave him something to do in the time it took for Chromia’s soldiers to give the o-kay. ‘It could save you yet.’

                ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Blackarachnia sat up and lifted her head so she could take a hard look at the older mech. ‘This is coming from the guy who’s suggested that we charge in guns blazing for _every_ battle.’

                ‘Not _every_ battle.’ Ironhide said, looking away. ‘Maybe a few, but not _every_ battle.’

                She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. Every battle.’ She reached into her subspace compartment and pulled out a data-pad. ‘I knew you’d be all “Ironhide-y” about this so I put together a little—well, _long –_ list of occurrences in which your immediate solution to the problem—battle or no – is to shoot it. I have it alphabetized and everything.’

                Ironhide looked back at her, raising a scarred brow. ‘Get out.’

                ‘Let’s see what’s at the top of the list!’ Blackarachnia began, reading them out loud. ‘On Alpha-Centauri, we passed through a refueling station where the clerk kindly informed us they had no ener-rods left in stock. Jerkbag McAngry-face—.’ She looked up from her reading. ‘Which is you, by the way – sorry, my creative juices weren’t exactly flowing when I wrote this.’

                ‘Get on with it.’

                She turned back to her data-pad. ‘Right, Jerkbag McAngry-face’s immediate reaction was to place a gun next to the clerk’s head and ask Prime if he should kill the poor sap for not taking stock.’

                Ironhide shrugged. ‘Was one time.’

                ‘Or in the Argosse Nebula, when Prime stepped out to ask some passing travellers for a spare screw-driver. When they said they were fresh out, Live-Free-or-Hide-Dard pulled out a gun and requested permission to shoot.’ She shook her head. ‘Wow. These names sounded _way_ better in my head. Funny how that works.’

                ‘ _Two_ times,’ Ironhide declared, shrugging his shoulders.

                ‘Yeah, two out of over three-dozen times since I started keeping track. Now I know it’s hard not always being right, but as someone who’s always right, I’d advise you to try some simpler solutions to your problems instead of blowing them up with those over-compensators of yours.’

                Ironhide shook his head. ‘There’s no _way_ it’s that many—here, let me see that.’ He reached out for the data-pad, hands groping the air impatiently.

                Blackarachnia complied, slamming the data-pad down into his outstretched servo. ‘Take a close, hard, look and see for yourself.’

                Ironhide glossed over it for a moment, tossed it into the air, and fired a round from his cannon, blowing the piece of metal into a thousand pieces with a single pop. He turned back to her and shrugged his shoulders once again. ‘There, problem solved.’

                As he returned to polishing his knives, Blackarachnia pulled a second data-pad from out of her subspace pocket and began filling out a new entry. ‘Elita’s Sanctuary… Ironic-hide blew up my data-pad when it upset him.’ She stared at the name for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I’ll edit these later.’

                Blackarachnia stared out the Ark’s window, watching the tens of Autobots make way for them. She nodded, swung her legs onto the floor, and stood up and out of the couch. She wasted no time in giving her limbs a stretch. ‘Ahh… let’s go.’ She bounced ahead before turning and beckoning them forth. ‘Come on, come on. You’ve had plenty of time to rest your asses. Let’s get out there and get this over with before I rust _my_ ass.’ She stopped to think about what she just said, then shook her head and bounded down the corridor.

                Ironhide groaned, trudging along. ‘This is going to be a nightmare…’

                But Optimus refused to respond. He would only drag his feet a distance behind them.

                Ironhide stared at him for a moment, then nodded. ‘Right, yeah, don’t worry about it—I’ll leave you alone.’ He jogged ahead, coming up next to Blackarachnia.

                The former Decepticon leaned in next to him, keeping her voice down. ‘Seriously though. Are we going to keep pretending there’s nothing wrong with the boss-bot, or are you going to tell me what his problem is?’

                ‘Optimus has a lot of problems,’ Ironhide replied without looking her way.

                ‘I know _that._ I just want to know what his problem is _this_ time. He was o-kay about the whole hunted by half the galaxy thing before, but… this is something different.’

                Ironhide sighed. ‘Look, Blackarachnia. There’s a reason Optimus is the way he is. Just like how there’s a reason for why you are the way you are. I don’t expect you to _tell_ anyone why you’re the way you are—so I expect _you_ to expect the same about Optimus.’

                ‘What the hell is any of that supposed to mean?’

                ‘It means we’re the sum of our parts, and some of those parts are a little more sensitive than others.’

With that, the conversation was dropped, and the three proceeded out of the ship and into the hangar bay of Elita’s Sanctuary. Dozens of Autobots scurried around to their respective positions as Blackarachnia scanned the area.

                ‘There’s a lot of Autobots here,’ she said, sounding almost disappointed. ‘Makes an ex-Decepticon a little paranoid, huh?’

                ‘You shouldn’t have anything to be paranoid _about_ ,’ Ironhide spat. ‘There shouldn’t be any problems so long as you remember your place.’

                She raised a claw and saluted. ‘Yes sir, Ironhide sir.’ Then, under her breath she muttered. ‘Hardass… yeah, that’s what I should have called him. Ironhardass.’

                ‘I heard that,’ Ironhide added, scanning the area for a welcome wagon of some kind. ‘Now help me locate Chromia and the oth—‘

                He didn’t need to, as a large weight landed on Ironhide’s shoulders, dragging him to the ground into a powerful head-lock. The perpetrator of this maneuver was none other than Chromia. A large, muscular femme with a build not unlike Ironhide’s. She grinned with delight as Ironhide squirmed and choked in her grip.

                ‘If it isn’t ol’ Ironhide—paying us a visit like the good little soldier he is!’

                Ironhide patted the arm wrapped around his neck and gasped.

                ‘I missed you too, friend!’

                ‘Uhh…’ Blackarachnia pointed at the blue and chrome robot, grinning sardonically. ‘Who’s your friend, Ironhide?’ He glared at her, and Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘Yeah, like I’m not going to cherish this moment.’

                Optimus took her side, nodding to Chromia.

                She soon set Ironhide free and rose to her feet, nodding back to Optimus respectfully. ‘Nice to see you too, Prime.’

                It took her a moment, but Blackarachnia was soon aware of the pair of Autobots standing alongside Chromia. One was a dark pink with a single wheel replacing both of her legs, while the other was shorter and pudgier in build with a pair of red horns sprouting out from either side of their helm.

                Chromia traced Blackarachnia’s field of vision and snapped her fingers. ‘Oh yeah, I almost forgot.’ She gestured to her subordinates. ‘This is my sister, Arcee. You met her before, Prime. The short one is Cliffjumper.’

                Cliffjumper perked his head to the snide remark and scowled. ‘I’m not short—I’m a mini-bot! I was born this way you inconsiderate bi--!’ But before he could say anything he’d regret, Arcee’s hand swiftly hovered over the small Autobot’s mouth.

                ‘Sure thing, shorty.’ Chromia stared at Blackarachnia and grinned. ‘I’m sure you could introduce your new friend as soon as we have ourselves settled. For now should we—?’

                ‘Actually…’ Finally, Optimus spoke. ‘Before we start any discussions on the… matter at hand.’ His stance shifted awkwardly. ‘I would like to… see her.’

                Chromia’s smile faded slightly, but still retained its optimistic charm nonetheless. ‘Of course. Follow me.’

                She looked Ironhide up and down and bopped him gently on the head before making her way with Prime out of the hangar. ‘Now don’t get too rowdy, ya hear?’

                Ironhide rubbed the back of his head, staring at the femme. ‘Aye…’

                Arcee’s eyes traced Blackarachnia’s body, smiling politely. ‘You’re injured.’ She turned to Ironhide and did the same. ‘Both of you. What happened to you guys?’

                ‘A battle,’ Ironhide said, dourly. ‘One of the guys who knows our serial-number. We scared them off, but...’ Ironhide performed his famous shrug once again.

                ‘Impressive.’ Arcee shook her head, looking back at Blackarachnia. ‘You look awful.’

                Blackarachnia took a dramatic bow. ‘Why thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in vorns.’

                Arcee chuckled but Ironhide could only blink. ‘Well… yeah.’ He said, unable to understand how that was supposed to be a joke.

                ‘Come with me, why don’t you?’ Arcee grabbed one of Blackarachnia’s claws and tugged her along gently.

                Blackarachnia stared at her hand, slightly startled but the Autobot’s touch. ‘Uh… personal space—‘

                ‘I’ll show you to the medical ward—this way please.’

                Arcee scooted along the hangar floor before disappearing down a narrow passageway with Blackarachnia.

                Ironhide stared at Cliffjumper.

                ‘What?’

                Ironhide continued to stare at Cliffjumper.

                ‘Stop that.’

                ‘Stop what?’

                ‘ _That_! What you’re doing right now!’ He waved his arms around all panicky. ‘All the staring, and the judging and—and the _thinking_ about _me_!’

                ‘Hrn…’ Ironhide crossed his arms and lowered his gaze on the uppity robot. ‘You want me to stop breathing, too?’

                ‘If doing so will make you asphyxiate and die, then yeah—sure! At least then you’ll quit staring at me like I’m some kind of animal in a zoo!’

                Ironhide rolled his eyes and faced the opposite direction. ‘Whatever you say, kid. Just take it easy, will you? You’re being annoying.’

                Cliffjumper flung his hands into the air. ‘Oh, yeah, _I’m_ being annoying here.’ He gestured to the rest of the hangar’s inhabitants. A dozen or so Autobots, trying not to make eye-contact. While some looked concerned, others shook their heads, thinking: _not this shit again._ ‘Hey everyone!’ Cliffjumper shouted. ‘Turns out I’m being annoying! Holy-cow, can-you-freaking-believe it?!’

                The rest of “Team Elita” turned away, others left the hangar entirely, regardless of whatever meaning they had of being there in the first place. Cliffjumper shook his head in disbelief. Who was this _newcomer?_ Who the hell was he to have the gall to—wait.

                ‘Wait.’ Cliffjumper raised a digit to the idle Autobot. ‘What’d you say your name was?’

                ‘Ironhide,’ the much larger Autobot answered.

                Cliffjumper slapped himself in the forehead. ‘Holy crap! Ironhide—it’s really you!’ He wrung his hands together, bowing his head in shame. ‘Quick. Forget everything I said over the past five minutes!’

                Ironhide shrugged, turning to look at the mini-bot. ‘’Kay.’

                ‘Now listen—I’m your biggest fan!’ Clifjumper began banging on his chest proudly. ‘You’re _Ironhide!_ The guy who travels the galaxy shooting and punching people in the face!’

                ‘Ehh…’ Ironhide massaged his arm. ‘Not sure how I should feel about that reputation.’

                ‘You should feel _awesome!’_ Cliffjumper exclaimed. ‘Now just—man, if you had some kind of record of every time you punched or shot someone… holy—I would pay _all_ the big bucks to own that.’

                Ironhide quickly remembered blowing up Blackarachnia’s data-pad and swore. They could have used the money—even if it meant indulging Cliffjumper in his odd tendencies. Ironhide wondered, did violent gun-totters like Cliffjumper come into being because of the reputations of people like him? He swore again.

                ‘Uhh… sir?’

                ‘Sorry about that, kid. I just had a… moment, I guess. Your name is Cliffjumper, yeah? Do I know you from anywhere? Your name sounds familiar…’

                ‘Nah,’ Cliffjumper assured him, waving a hand as if to discard the matter. ‘But listen, can I – heh – can I… _fight_ you?’

                Ironhide raised a brow. ‘Pardon?’

                ‘Y’know, just so I can get the feeling of Ironhide punching me in the face burned into my memory-banks.’

                Ironhide considered this for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Nah, no. I’m far too civilized and gentlemanly to simply break out into random fights.’

                ‘Oh.’ Cliffjumper stared at his feet.

                Ironhide grinned. ‘Alternatively, give me a top-hat and monocle and I’ll show you how a true gentleman fights!’

                Cliffjumper’s head whipped up, and a wide, manic grin stretched across his face. He threw a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got some in the back.’

\-----

                Blackarachnia sat against a recharge slab in the tight quarters of the medical wing. It had all you could expect from a med-bay from syringes to scalpels and everything in-between. Arcee stood behind her, using a pair of tweezers to pick the shrapnel out of her back.

                ‘I can’t seem to find any wheels,’ Arcee said aside. ‘You turn into a jet or something?’

                ‘Actually I’m a beast-former,’ Blackarachnia clarified. ‘Spider.’

                ‘Oh.’

                Something about Arcee made Blackarachnia extremely uncomfortable. Something obvious, but there was something else. _Is she… hitting on me?_

                ‘I knew a few beast-formers in the past,’ Arcee said, her tone as calm as ever. ‘They were a little weird looking, to be honest, but you… it looks _great_ on you!’

                _Holy crap she really is._

                Blackarachnia stood up. ‘Look, I really appreciate all this medical attention, but I think I can easily do this myself. I wouldn’t want to waste your time.’

                ‘Please!’ Arcee gestured for her to sit. ‘It’s my pleasure.’

                _That’s what I’m afraid of._ ‘Look—‘

                ‘No, no. I insist.’ Arcee grabbed Blackarachnia by the shoulders, pulling her back down onto the slab. ‘I’m sorry if I’m boring but… we can always just… _chat_.’

                Blackarachnia gave it up. ‘Alright, what do you want to chat about?’

                ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?’

                But what could she possibly say to Arcee about herself? That she was a Decepticon—a murderer of dozens of Autobots? Her memory only went so far back, and very little of it was without the act of killing. ‘You first,’ she said, turning the tables.

                Arcee shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Naturally Cliff and I work in a pair, but ever since Chromia got wrapped into this Bludgeon business I figured I’d help her out. I mean, Chromia and I—we’re all we have left, y’know?’

                Blackarachnia didn’t seem to understand.

                ‘I used to have two siblings,’ Arcee clarified. ‘Me, Chromia, and Elita… we were inseparable.’

                ‘What happened?’ Blackarachnia asked, already knowing the answer.

                ‘Elita just… well, she’s no longer in… active… duty.’ She shook her head. ‘Never mind that. I played my part of the bargain— your turn to tell me something about yourself.’

                Blackarachnia sighed, but quickly remembered something she was willing to share. She was surprised she hadn’t thought of them before, but then, she was already constantly trying to forget, and this talk of “siblings” made the act of doing so difficult. ‘I have a pair of siblings as well.’ She cocked her head to the side. ‘Well, I haven’t lost them yet. Or maybe I lost them both. Anyway they’re—‘

                ‘Decepticons?’ Arcee guessed.

                Blackarachnia didn’t know how to respond, but Arcee only grinned. ‘No need trying to hide it. I could tell what you used to be as soon as I set my eyes on you. No Autobot in their right mind wears that much purple without going through a few Decepticon customs.’

                ‘Eh, yeah. I was ex-Decepticon, so be it.’ She raised her claws in defense. ‘Don’t worry, though. I changed my ways—I’m what you’d call as “cool-as-a-cucumber”.’

                Arcee laughed. ‘That sounds like an Optimism to me.’

                ‘A what?’

                ‘Optimism—Optimusism. You know what, forget it. It sounds like something Optimus would say.’

                Blackarachnia smirked, lowering her guard around the dual-wheeled Autobot. She didn’t _seem_ to be posing a threat at the very least. ‘So that’s why you’ve taken an interest in me, eh? Heh, by god I’m becoming one of them…’

                Arcee’s smile lit up in response to the joke, but began to slacken. ‘So your sisters…’

                ‘Siblings.’ Blackarachnia was quick to correct her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t say they were sisters, just—well, anyway, I’ve changed ways, but they haven’t.’ She paused. ‘In fact I don’t think they’re happy with me at the moment. I think they want me dead after everything I’ve done.’

                ‘Don’t say that,’ Arcee said, quietly. ‘I’m sure they still consider you family. Surely they still care about—‘

                ‘No.’ Blackarachnia had had enough with the conversation, and stood, preparing to leave. ‘They don’t.’

\-----

                Optimus followed Chromia through a dark hallway, lit only by the dimmed overheads above. It was evident few people were allowed through this portion of the outpost, and he could tell why. He imagined only Chromia and Arcee would be allowed to pass through here. He was allowed as well, but the closer they approached the room at the end of the hall, the more he wished he wasn’t. He spun his head around to the floor behind him. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a figure, but he knew it to be his imagination. ‘You’ve really outdone yourself with this place, Chromia. This whole outpost…’

                Chromia grinned. ‘That’s sweet coming from you. We picked up the remaining survivors from Earth and rebuilt our outpost from the ground-up. We’ve only got thirty to fifty members, but we’re a guild nonetheless.’ There was silence. ‘So. Did you do it?’

                ‘Yes, Chromia. I killed Megatron.’

                She nodded, as if affirming some long-time suspicion she may have held before their meeting. ‘Then it’s really true. Hm.’

                Optimus couldn’t tell what she thought about that, but decided not to pry too far into it. ‘I’m sorry.’ _Idiot._ He had inadvertently brought up something worse.

                Chromia took in a breath, then tilted her head backwards to face the ceiling. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about. Every time we meet, it’s always “I’m sorry” this, and “please forgive me”, that. It’s been thirty years, Prime. I was angry before… but I know you aren’t to blame. Besides…’ She lowered her head, stopping in front of a door. ‘Arcee is the one who hasn’t forgiven you yet.’ She parted the door, leading Optimus into a tightly-sealed room. It was well kept and painted white. Wreathes and candles were set and lit surrounding a single slab bolted in the center of the room. On the slab was an orange and maroon coloured robot, tubes and wires sprouting out of her face and chest, leading into great, big machines buzzing with electronic sounds and moving parts. Optimus walked over and crouched next to the robot, body shaking as he took her hand.

                ‘Has she gotten any better?’

                Chromia opened her mouth, but couldn’t manage any words. She thought for a moment, then finally told the truth. ‘No.’

                ‘Can you… Sorry, I hate to ask you this, but can you leave us alone for a moment?’

                Chromia nodded in understanding, stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

                Optimus squeezed Elita’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry…’

                ‘You should be.’ A third figure appeared in the room. Not Chromia, nor any one Autobot. It was a tall, lean, silver figure. Megatron drifted over to Elita’s body, examining it curiously. ‘Really, Prime? _This_ is why you sought solitude? Because of a girl?’

                ‘I’ve been seeing you a lot lately.’ Optimus said to the warlord.

                Megatron nodded thoughtfully. ‘Indeed. I believe it is because of your crumbling mental state. Oh hell, we both know this whole event has left you paranoid beyond belief. Before long you’ll eat yourself out, and all that will remain is me. I’m rather disappointed, Prime, I for one would believe that if it weren’t for this specific Autobot, you’d never have felt the regret you did when Earth fell.’

                Optimus scowled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Elita was my Lieutenant, and we became close—but that’s not to say she meant the world to me. I lost over one-hundred Autobots during the surge, all because of me. I left because I saw myself as a danger to others. Elita was just one of my many failures.’ He looked Megatron in the eye. ‘Besides, what do you know? You’re a hallucination.’

                ‘Or a ghost.’ Megatron suggested casually.

                Optimus stared at him, then chuckled.

                Megatron joined him, laughing heartily. ‘Well, maybe not a ghost. But if I truly am a hallucination, then in a way I’ll always be alive inside of you.’

                ‘You’re alive in more ways than that,’ Optimus reminded him. ‘Your will has changed the face of the Decepticons, and before long the face of the war.’

                ‘Perhaps… perhaps this was my ingenious plan all along?’ He shot Optimus a smug grin.

                ‘Maybe…’ Optimus stared at Elita, petrified. ‘So you’re a hallucination—we’re both aware of that. But how do you suppose I get rid of you? You’d think me being aware of your non-existence would make you disappear, but I guess not.’ He looked up. ‘Whatever happened to that old saying? That only insane people don’t think they’re insane? Well, I know I’m insane, but you’re sure as hell not going away.’

                ‘Do you really need me gone? Other than the fact that you’re hallucinating my presence, you’re fairly calm-minded otherwise. I’m not hurting you, am I? I doubt I’m even annoying you, per se.’

                ‘No. Somehow—no. But it’s only a matter of time before someone catches me talking to myself.’

                ‘Then perhaps what you need is closure.’

                ‘What closure?! You’re already dead! The only closure I can possibly think of is if I died myself.’

                ‘Well we can’t have that now, can we?’ Megatron pondered for the moment, humming to himself. ‘You can always give yourself up to the Autobots.’

                ‘With Blackarachnia? They’d kill her.’     

                ‘If you care so much about the Decepticon, then have her and Ironhide stay with Chromia. You turn yourself in— fair’s fair.’

                ‘I…’

                ‘Then you’ll fight?’

                Optimus shook his head. ‘I’ll fight if I have to, but I won’t lose. Prowl did things… he is part of why Elita is the way she is.’ He barely gestured to the comatose robot. ‘I won’t let Prowl have his way with me. I can’t let him turn me into another one of his puppets, because then I really _would_ be dead.’

                ‘Hrm.’

                ‘What do you think?’

                ‘I think you should quit talking to yourself,’ Megatron advised, throwing his hands into the air. ‘I am nothing more than a figment of your imagination, after all!’

                Optimus frowned. ‘Is this you making excuses not to help me? Or is my sub-conscious really this useless.’

                ‘I know everything you know. Perhaps even more. There is a lot of repression in that thick skull of yours.’ Megatron tapped the side of his head to accentuate his point.

                ‘Then what do you think I should do about… about all of this?’

                ‘To be honest, Optimus…’ He approached him, optics locked, until his face was only centimeters away from Prime’s. ‘I think you need a bigger gun.’

Optimus blinked, and he was gone.

                Chromia swung open the door. ‘Prime?’

                Optimus turned away from Elita. ‘Chromia.’

                ‘Is… is everything alright?’

                ‘Yes.’ Optimus stared at her through big, round eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

                She scanned the room unsurely. ‘I thought I heard you talking to someone.’

                ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Optimus shot her a sad smile. ‘I was only talking to myself.’

 

               

               


	41. Alliance

                Optimus held his head, shaking it slowly. ‘Bludgeon?!’ he reared it to face Chromia. The two were travelling back to the main hangar through a long, darkened hallway. ‘The Decepticon in possession of the Ark’s serial code is _Bludgeon?!_ ’

                She tilted her head to the side, half-smiling. ‘Yeah, it kind of sucks.’ She faced forward, her grin and her glow fading. ‘Unfortunately, the one who encoded your ship’s code onto her processor was one of mine. Bludgeon held her captive in one of his cells for who knows how long.’

                ‘Did something happen?’

                ‘According to her last transmission, some good Samaritan dropped by and broke her free. Right now they're hiding somewhere in a Decepticon infested Crystal City.’

                ‘Any idea who this Good Samaritan is?’

                She shook her head. ‘Nope! Over this distance our transmissions come through either scrambled or just plain intelligible. The longer the message, the harder it is to decipher.’

                Optimus frowned. ‘Then we really don’t know if your friend is being held captive by a Decepticon or an Autobot, do we?’

                Chromia thought about this for a moment. ‘I don’t mean to sound nearly as cynical as you, but you’re right. We really don’t know anything about what’s going on down there.’

                 ‘And I take it we can’t simply fly over and make planet fall?’

                Chromia spat. ‘Course not. If it were that easy—well, it’s never been that easy. Not really. You already know that though, don’t you, Prime.’

                ‘Of course. But I’d be severely disappointed if you didn’t have a plan prepared beforehand. You called me here for a reason, what did you have in mind?’

                Chromia folded her arms. ‘You’re off the map. Your ship is, I mean. Your signatures don’t show up on any radar, and you have yet to be picked up by any Autobot, Decepticon, or Imperial sensors.’

                He nodded, beginning to understand.

                Chromia displayed her palm as a turquoise and translucent hologram spawned from it. It featured the planet Theopany. It resembled the Sol Planet Saturn, in a way, but on closer inspection, the rings circling the planet were not natural, but in fact mechanical. ‘Bludgeon has a ring of automatic railguns orbiting his planet. We tried sending stealth-ships in to take back our people, but—‘

                He raised his palm to her. ‘I get the picture. You need a ship that’s fully undetectable so it can pass by Bludgeon’s railguns and infiltrate the city without notice. And that’s exactly what I have to offer.’

                The hologram dissipated, and Chromia’s servo returned to her hip. ‘Exactly. Don’t know how you got your Ark to do that but… whatever. For my friend, and for your life, I need a small group to infiltrate the city and meet up with our Good Samaritan. Think you’re up for it?’

                Optimus nodded. ‘Of course. Ironhide, Blackarachnia and I will do exactly as you expect. We’ll be in and out before you know it.’

                Chromia nodded, before staring at the floor. ‘Look, I know you think this is going to be some easy in-and-out job…’

                ‘Chromia…’

                ‘But it’s not. You’re venturing into the heart of enemy territory. Of _Bludgeon’s_ territory. Most of “Team Elita”’s population are outcasts looking for sanctuary. Hence the name of this place.’ She looked back up at him, smiling softly. ‘I wouldn’t wish the position you’re in upon my worst enemy. So when it comes to my friends…’

                ‘You don’t have to worry about it,’ Optimus said warmly. ‘I know I don’t have a lot of time left. I’m just trying to elongate my lifespan for as long as I can. I’m not going to drag any of your soldiers into carrying burdens that are my own.’

                She nodded, stared at the floor for a moment then whirled her head back to him. ‘Then what about me?! You can take me along to—‘

                ‘No.’ Optimus raised a hand once again. ‘I know the importance of taking all the help I can get, but you’re needed here. You have a responsibility now, Chromia. I’m not about to endanger any of my friends for my own benefit.’ He bumped his fist lightly on her shoulder. ‘Ironhide and Blackarachnia are tough customers—they’re more talented than I will ever be, and, really, they deserve better.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, this’ll be nothing more than a stealth operation. I already have two loudmouths under my command. Three strikes and I’m out.’

                Chromia chuckled, then raised her hands in defeat. ‘Alright, Prime. You’re the boss-bot.’

                They continued down the hallway, stopping before the doors to the hangar. Chromia turned to him, frowning. ‘Listen, Prime, I know you say you’re just trying to stay alive – and there’s nothing wrong with that – but you can’t expect me to believe that you don’t have any long-term plans. What is the Ark’s flight-path, exactly? Where will you be going?’

                Optimus shook. ‘I don’t think I should tell you.’

                She grinned. ‘Oh, come on! It can’t be anything _that_ horrible. You’re looking for something to help you out, right?’

                ‘Something like that.’

                ‘Then spill! If you can’t tell them then at least tell me. What’s your grand final mission supposed to be?’

                Optimus thought about this for a moment, clenched his fists, and looked the bulkier robot in the eye. ‘I’m looking for someone.’

                ‘Someone? Who? Alpha Trion? The ghost of Megatron? The real Megatron? Uhh… the Thirteen original Cybertronians?’

                ‘If I tell you you’re going to punch me.’

                She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re my friend, Optimus. I would never do anything like that. Look, if this person you’re looking for is so important that you can’t tell me, I understa—‘

                ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you.’ He took a breath. ‘It’s—‘

\-----

                ‘Now this is just sad.’

                Ironhide stood, wearing a top-hat and monocle as he held Cliffjumper up by the head. The red minibot was wailing his arms and legs with the fury of a tornado, but it took only plucking the small Autobot off the ground and holding him a distance away from his face for Ironhide to render him harmless.

                ‘Say that in five more minutes when I reach your—‘

                ‘Yeah… I hate to say this, kid, but I think you’re picking on someone the wrong size.’

                Cliffjumper growled. ‘If that’s some dig at my height then I’ll… I’ll…’ His speech soon devolved into random cussing and intelligible rambling, much to Ironhide chagrin.

                ‘I’m still never going to understand how you kids think you can take on the world. I mean look at you. How are you supposed to stand up to the Decepticons when I can put you out of commission with one hand behind my back?’ He gestured to his other servo, which he had indeed stuffed away behind his lower back. ‘Literally!’

                ‘Naturally, I’m an expert sniper!’ Cliffjumper growled. ‘Instead of getting all up-close and personal, I make their heads explode with a giant cannon a mile away.’

                Ironhide chuckled. ‘Sounds like we’ve got a state-of-the-art assassin on our—.’ Ironhide stopped. He remembered where he had heard Cliffjumper’s name before. He swung his fist down, pinning Cliffjumper to the ground. With his free hand, he activated his cannon and pointed the glowing barrel against Cliffjumper’s head.

                ‘Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!’ Cliffjumper squirmed. ‘What is this?!’

                ‘Now I remember!’ Ironhide roared, rearing his cannon closer to Cliffjumper’s head. ‘I know what you are!’

                Arcee and Blackarachnia arrived just in time to witness the throttle. Blackarachnia dashed forward. ‘Ironhide, what are you doing, what the hell are you wearing, and why did you think that was a good idea! I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a hipster!’

                ‘I knew about Arcee, but it just didn’t click when we got here.’ He released Cliffjumper before batting him aside. He rose to his feet. ‘Cliffjumper and Arcee are Prowl’s head assassins. They are here because _we_ are here!’

                Arcee raised her servos. ‘That’s not true!’ She glanced at Blackarachnia, then back to Ironhide. ‘Well, yes, I am an assassin, and so is Cliffjumper. But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to support my sister since she’s up against one of the deadliest Decepticons of all time. Prowl does not control us, Ironhide!’

                On the floor, Cliffjumper massaged the back of his head. ‘And people say _I’m_ paranoid.’

                ‘You know me, Ironhide. I wouldn’t betray you or Prime to anyone.’

                Ironhide squinted until his optics were tiny slits. ‘I don’t…’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been really defensive lately and…’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to think, Arcee. I can’t let my guard down for a second and I think it’s driving me crazy.’

                ‘It’s okay,’ Arcee finally said, rolling over to him. ‘We all have our moments. Let’s just embrace the fact that we’re all on the same page now, and that nobody got seriously hurt.’

                As she said this, the hangar doors swung open, and Optimus Prime’s body came flying into the room, landing hard on his back with a massive dent pressed into his face. He lifted himself off of the floor with one hand, and lowered his damaged faceplate with the other. ‘I told you!’ He shouted at the figure in the doorway.

                It was Chromia. Fists clenched, teeth clenched, and optics seething with rage. ‘Coward!’ She shouted. ‘Out of everything that’s happened, _that’s_ what you’re choosing— _that’s_ what you’re going to do! You’re the last person I’d ever expect to be that stu—.’ She looked up, only to find Arcee, Blackarachnia, Ironhide, and Cliffjumper staring at her, mouths gaping. ‘—pid.’

                She turned around, staring at the rising Prime over her shoulder. ‘You have full access to our armory. Once you’re ready, get off my planet, and do your job.’

                Optimus was on his feet. He stared at Chromia as she disappeared out of the hangar. When she was finally out of sight, he turned around, and headed down an opposite corridor. Ironhide and Blackarachnia sprinted after him.

                ‘What the hell was that?!’ Blackarachnia demanded.

                ‘Don’t talk to me right now,’ Optimus told her as he marched down the hallway, heading towards the armory.

                Cliffjumper and Arcee drove a distance behind.

                Everyone was silent.

\-----

                Obsidian had a wide grin spread across his face. Or, he would have had his facial structure allowed it. He hovered past several of Bludgeon’s grunts as they dashed through the Nemesis’ hallways. Obsidian approximated an army of about fifty or sixty under Bludgeon’s command. It sounded like nothing, but it was far more than either Team Prime, or Starscream’s Brigade had to offer. On top of that, each member was either a highly trained martial artist, or a highly trained mercenary, or both. Several confused Decepticons popped out of hidden doors, lost in the ship’s multi-dimensional maze. Some were covered in slime, and some were on fire, some were both, but weren’t even aware of it. Some loud shouting came from one room in particular. It was the Nemesis’ warp-engine room. He hovered down the hallway to find the source of the shouting. It was Thundercracker. The moment he entered the warp-engine room, there were no doubts in his mind what could have caused Thundercracker’s tantrum.

                ‘Oh my,’ Obsidian whispered as he became privy to the display.

                Skywarp was strung up against the engine. His lower half mangled into the ships technology, and his upper half splayed across it as if he were a steel idol of some religious significance. He was conscious, albeit barely.

                Thundercracker had tossed Ferak across the room, machine guns flaring from his wrists.

                ‘You think you can get away with just anything around here?’ Thundercracker dragged Ferak off the ground, lifted him above his head, and pounded him in his face. ‘Well? DO YOU?!’

                Ferak spitted and pleaded, but it did him no good. Thundercracker threw him into the ground and kicked him aside. ‘Bastard.’

                Skywarp’s mouth barely moved. ‘It’s… cool… Thunders.’

                Thundercracker glowered at him. ‘No it’s not! You’re one of the few remaining members of the Aerospace Legion! One of the original Seekers! You are not allowed to be degraded like this.’ He spat at the cowering Ferak. ‘You think you can turn someone into a ground-bridge just because you’re bored? What if I did the same to you? Right here and now I can swap you in for Skywarp and nobody would give a flying—!’ He looked up and spotted Obsidian. ‘Oh, Obsidian.’ He gestured to Skywarp. ‘You see this?’

                Obsidian was surprised. ‘I’ve never seen you like this.’

                Thundercracker blinked, looked down at what he was doing, then shrugged. ‘Bastard deserves it.’ He kicked Ferak one last time, before taking Obsidian’s side, the two stared at Skywarp—or the ground bridge merged with Skywarp rather, while Ferak scurried away. ‘This is a mess,’ Thundercracker muttered. ‘I’m not skilled enough to undo this.’

                ‘And Ferak?’

                ‘He probably could, but I don’t trust him. But then, I don’t trust any of Bludgeon’s men.’

                ‘Well, does he work?’

                ‘Huh?’

                ‘As a ground bridge I mean.’

                Thundercracker glared daggers at the strategist. ‘You did _not_ just ask me that.’

                Obsidian rolled his optics. ‘Oh come off it, I’m only trying to find strengths in our predicament. It’s my _job,_ Thundercracker.’

                Thundercracker sighed. ‘Yeah, yes. He can teleport us anywhere on the planet while he’s linked to Trypticon’s spark.’

                Skywarp coughed. ‘I am… a living wormhole… of cool.’

                ‘No you’re not, Skywarp,’ Thundercracker said. ‘You’re a science project cross-bred with a horror flick.’

                ‘Even… better.’

                Thundercracker shook his head. ‘There’s no way this is good for him.’

                Obsidian nodded. ‘We’ll do what we can after this is over. Now.’ His grin returned. ‘Did you hear the news?’

                Thundercracker blinked at him. ‘What news?’ He spotted Obsidian’s faint grin and began to emulate it. ‘What happened?’

                ‘Come with me to see Starscream and you can find out for yourself.’

                Thundercracker nodded before turning to Skywarp. ‘Hang tight, I’ll be back in a bit.’

                Skywarp nodded. ‘Suuurrrre.’ …Before falling back into stasis.

                Thundercracker and Obsidian made their way towards the med-bay where Starscream had set up his own personal base of operations within the now densely populated Nemesis. They each knocked aside any of Bludgeon’s Decepticons that chose to stand in their way. After sending several of the younger recruits cowering out of the way, they turned to each other and laughed.

                Inside the med-bay was Starscream. He was lying on his slab with his hands rested behind his head. Slipstream was carving something onto his face, while Strika casually leaned against a wall with her arms crossed, as per usual. She nodded a greeting towards the two as they approached.

                ‘I’m telling you,’ Starscream said. ‘All of the most feared Decepticons have facial discrepancies to make them stand out. Bludgeon has his mask, Overlord has his lips…’

                ‘And now Starscream has his face-carvings.’ Obsidian finished.

                Starscream bolted upward, sending Slipstream flying into the nearest wall.

                ‘Obsidian! There you are! So, how was Bludgeon’s fortress? Was it covered with prayer circles and Anti-Unicronian baubles like I suspected?’

                ‘Surprisingly, yes, but there was something else that caught my eye.’ His grin was fully apparent.

                ‘Oh?’ Starscream’s was even more so.

                ‘A little birdy told me that the prisoner containing the Ark’s serial number has just been broken free from Bludgeon’s captivity. They are currently in a certain someone else’s possession. Funny that.’

                Starscream laughed. ‘That _is_ funny. I wonder who could have _possibly_ pulled it off.’

                ‘You always were a charmer, Starscream.’

                Starscream waggled a finger. ‘Heheheh, so where is it?’

                Obsidian’s expression dropped. ‘Where is what?’

                ‘The prisoner.’

                ‘You should know. After all, you’re the one who…’ Obsidian quickly realized what was happening, then slapped himself in the face.

                Starscream frowned. ‘No I— Wait, weren’t you just saying that you freed the prisoner right under Bludgeon’s nose?’

                Obsidian’s arms dropped to his side, tendrils clenching wickedly. ‘Dammit Starscream I was just being coy!’

                Starscream rose from his slab. ‘So was I! I was being coy because I thought you were implying you broke out the prisoner!’

                ‘I was being coy because I thought _you_ broke out the prisoner!’

                ‘I was here the entire time! How could I have possibly found the time to fly ahead of you and break free the most heavily guarded individual on the planet?! I LOST MY ARMS FOR PRIMUS SAKE!’

                ‘WELL IF YOU DIDN’T BREAK THEM OUT THEN WHO THE HELL DID?!’

                Both Decepticons looked as though they were about to strangle each other. Their breaths were heavy with outrage and confusion.

                Thundercracker massaged his optics. ‘Dammit… Strika—?’

                Strika stepped forward, unfolded her arms, and slammed her fist against Starscream’s repair-slab, cracking it into seven pieces. ‘If you ladies are done screaming at each-other, might I remind you that there are over _FIFTY DECEPTICONS_ on this planet?! Each and every one looking to get rich quick!’

                Obsidian took a breath and calmed down. ‘You’re right, Strika. I shouldn’t have been so… hopeful. I just didn’t expect it to be sheer coincidence when the prisoner was freed as soon as we touched ground.’ He looked to Starscream. ‘Bludgeon is going to think the same. We’ll need to be careful around him.’

                ‘Right.’ Starscream marched to the doorway. ‘I’m going to go have a chat with some of our fellow Decepticon commanders. Who else is there again? Cannonball, Gutcruncher and—‘

                ‘Banzaitron,’ Strika told him. ‘I did some sneaking around.’

                Slipstream, pulling herself out of the wall stared at Strika incredulously. ‘You? Impossible!’

                ‘Shut up, runt!’ She turned back to the others. ‘But I did, yeah. I spotted Banzaitron on this very ship. Not sure about Gutcruncher, but he shouldn’t be too far behind.’

                ‘You think one of them might have our prize?’ Starscream asked.

                ‘Who knows? Maybe you’ll find out more than I did.’ She made way for Starscream’s exit. ‘Just be sure to pummel one of ‘em for me if they do.’

                ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Starscream said as he took his leave. ‘I think I have a better idea.’

\-----

                Banzaitron sat in his personally claimed room aboard the Nemesis. Any other Decepticon trying to “move in” were quickly scared off by his sheer presence alone. As it should have been. Of course, there was also the fact that Treadshot was holding a gun pointed at the door for anyone who may have stumbled in, but Banzaitron liked to think most of the fear was his doing. One visitor, however, was a welcome sight.

                Axer entered the room, glanced at Treadshot, and sighed. ‘Come on, Treadshot. You know I’m no trouble to either of you. Quit acting so tough and shove it.’

                Banzaitron raised a hand to the gunslinger, and Treadshot stuffed his blaster away, grumbling to himself.

                ‘How’s Cannonball?’ Banzaitron asked.

                ‘He’s an idiot,’ Axer said flatly. ‘Real boring sort. Thinks his best chances of power are sticking to Bludgeon. He honestly expects to achieve his dream by bringing him to power.’

                ‘And?’

                ‘And he’s an idiot! What more do you want me to say? Bludgeon is either going to put us out of business, or kill us before we try making a buck ourselves. I’m sticking with you guys. Never liked Cannonball anyway.’

                Banzaitron leaned back, hands behind his head. ‘Yeah, figures. Y’know, I’ll bet you three-hundred shanix I can kill Bludgeon. Or I would bet you that if we stood a chance against him as a whole.’

                ‘What do you mean?’

                ‘I mean we’re outnumbered, dammit. Bludgeon has Gutcruncher and Starscream, and—whatever. You can’t expect the Decepticons’ Intelligence Agency and a couple of mercs to stand up to an army led by Bludgeon. That idiot’s one of the big names!’ He slapped his leg. ‘So yeah, welcome Axer. Welcome to the Anti-Bludgeon Brigade. Bludgeon’s going to win the Spacefarer’s War and we’re all doomed to stick around on this mud ball for the rest of our lives. Hope you enjoy your stay!’

                Axer sighed. ‘You’re very over-dramatic, you know that? I mean you’re right, but what else is there to do?’

                Banzaitron shook his head. ‘No idea. I figured I’d try and sneak up on him, but the guy’s as paranoid as they come. He’s got like fifty body-guards surrounding him at all times, and he’s always listening, always…’ he stopped, and stared at the door. ‘Slag.’ In a flash, the martial artist leaped forward, swung open the door, and grabbed a green figure by the throat.

                He dragged the figure into the room, slamming him against a wall. ‘It seems we have a listener of our own… Who the hell are you?! How much did you hear?!’

                The Decepticon squirmed, unable to speak a word.

                ‘Wait.’ Axer grabbed Banzaitron by the shoulder. ‘Let him go. It’s okay, I know this guy. He’s just a weak nerd.’

                Banzaitron did as he was told, dropping the green Decepticon and watching him writhe on the floor. As the Decepticon gathered his bearings and rose, Banzaitron came to recognize the smaller robot. ‘Charger…’ he muttered. ‘Last I checked you were one of Gutcruncher’s cronies.’

                ‘I am,’ Charger said, massaging his throat. ‘Second in command as a matter of fact.’

                Banzaitron folded his arms, unimpressed. ‘Speak.’

                ‘Right, listen, I’m not here for any trouble. I’m here because Gutcruncher desires an alliance.’

                Banzaitron tilted his head back. ‘I should have seen this coming.’ He faced Charger once again. ‘So what? He thinks that by joining forces we can kill Bludgeon?’

                ‘No,’ Charger admitted. ‘You can’t. We’re just a pair of small-sized groups affiliated with Bludgeon’s larger command structure. Together we’re just a medium-sized group facing off against a larger fighting force.’

                ‘Then what’s the point of you being here?’

                Charger stared at him. ‘You’re the intelligence officer, Banzaitron. You haven’t heard? Someone broke out Bludgeon’s prisoner. _That_ prisoner.’

                Banzaitron’s optics narrowed. ‘I see.’

                ‘There’s no reason for any of us to continue serving Bludgeon any longer. Gutcruncher is aware of that. Krok is loyal, and so is Cannonball, but that doesn’t stop those who follow him to plan for themselves. With the prisoner gone, Bludgeon is back to being a generic pirate captain in charge of a cluster of mayhem.’

                ‘Any ideas who might have taken the prisoner?’

                ‘Honestly, I’m as baffled as you are. I can guarantee it wasn’t Gutcruncher, otherwise he’d be here right now, bragging to the lot of you about it.’

                ‘Well, it’s not us either,’ Banzaitron almost felt sorry to admit it.

                ‘And it’s not Cannonball,’ Axer added. ‘I’ve been watching the guy like a hawk. His best idea all week was to take over the Nemesis like the rest of us.’

                ‘Then who’s that leave?’ Banzaitron asked. ‘Krok? Starscream?’

                ‘Anyone,’ Charger said, grimly. ‘You don’t have to have a high rank to scheme. Any Decepticon in this army could have stolen the prisoner. And any one of them is all the more powerful because of it.’

                A large figure entered the room, unbeknownst to the others. ‘Then clearly we need to make sure it stays that way for the time being.’

                In moments, Starscream felt the barrels of four blasters trained against his head. His hands were raised in casual surrender. ‘Before you ask, I heard everything.’

                ‘Get out,’ Banzaitron ordered.

                ‘Oh brother…’ With the snap of his fingers, several panels shifted across Starscream’s being and dozens of pockets of concealed weaponry revealed itself to the four Decepticons. ‘Now, are we going to put the guns away, or are we going to continue to behave like little sparklings.’

                ‘You first,’ Banzaitron snorted.

                Starscream tilted his head and grinned. He was not going to back down no matter how long they waited.

                Banzaitron swore. ‘Dammit, guns down, people.’

                They did as they were told, and Starscream followed suit, stepping further into the room. He placed his hands on his hips as he looked around. ‘Cramped, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you’ll be expecting any _more_ visitors, will you?’

                ‘No.’

                Starscream’s smile grew. ‘Good. I killed Sunstorm.’

                ‘What? So what?’ Axer replied. ‘What’s that mean to us?’

                ‘It means he killed Bludgeon’s mentor,’ Banzaitron muttered. ‘I thought you said you were trying to avenge him.’

                ‘I lied.’

                The four nodded, each thinking they should have expected as much. Banzaitron pressed a fist underneath his chin as he examined the Aerospace Commander. ‘So what are you saying? You want in?’

                Starscream shrugged. ‘If it means ridding any chance of Bludgeon winning this bounty, then yes.’ He looked between the four. Four nobodies with little to no recognition whatsoever. Unlike Starscream. Everyone knew him, be it personally, or by reputation. ‘Listen, I know you’re hesitant to accept someone the likes of me. My purpose for coming here after all was to infiltrate Bludgeon’s forces and steal his prisoner for myself.’

                ‘Well, at least now I know you’re telling the truth.’ Banzaitron muttered, unsure of whether to trust the notorious Seeker.

                ‘Bludgeon kicked your ass,’ Treadshot stated, as quiet as ever.

                ‘As according to plan.’

                Treadshot scoffed, but Charger understood. ‘If you wanted to win that fight, you would have at least used the weaponry you pulled on us just thirty seconds ago…’

                ‘It was a means of getting him to lower his guard around me, albeit a humiliating one. Unfortunately my plans have been stalled now that a certain someone has stolen the prisoner before we did.’

                Banzaitron nodded. ‘What are you suggesting?’

                Starscream wandered across the room, performing several animated gestures to help describe his coming ideas. ‘Anyone could be in possession of the prisoner now. But that doesn’t matter. Whoever it is will have to tell somebody eventually. The whole point of it for Bludgeon was to drag people onto his side, because with the serial number in his possession, it appeared that he had already won. Who has it doesn’t matter. Not yet. Our current goal—for all of us – is to keep that power out of Bludgeon’s hands for as long as possible, and the easiest way to do that is to kill Bludgeon.’

                ‘You’re suggesting we really do this.’ Banzaitron laughed. ‘You want to join forces so that we can kill Bludgeon before he kills Optimus and takes leadership of the Decepticons.’

                Starscream nodded. ‘I could offer you all high positions of power should you back me in the bounty to kill Prime myself, but I know that’s asking for too much. So yes, an alliance to kill Bludgeon. After that we can all go our separate ways, and back to hunting Prime without worrying about that superstitious oaf getting in our way.’

                ‘The start of a civil war,’ Axer grinned. ‘I like it. Count me in.’

                ‘I guess I’m in too,’ Banzaitron agreed. He offered the seeker a handshake, and the two shook accordingly.

                They turned to Charger who nodded. ‘I’ll have to contact Gutcruncher, but I’m fairly certain he’ll want to be involved as well. You have no complaints from me.’

                Treadshot merely grunted.

                ‘Good.’ Starscream turned around. ‘I’m trusting you, fellow Decepticons. I expect you to trust me, as unfathomable as that may sound.’ He cackled his cackle as he left the room to make contact with the rest of his brigade.

                As Charger followed him, Banzaitron felt himself drop into his chair. He had trouble believing what he was getting into. When he understood, he cringed. With this alliance, he just gave Starscream two more squadrons and access to the head of Decepticon secret intelligence. Because of him, Starscream was three times more powerful, and Bludgeon couldn’t possibly know or suspect a thing about it. Axer and Treadshot seemed content with the fact that they now stood a chance against Bludgeon, but Banzaitron knew he was dealing with fire. A storm was about to hit Bludgeon, and Banzaitron was left trapped in its eye.


	42. Dark-Space

                Ironhide, Cliffjumper, Blackarachnia and Arcee stood outside the armoury doors, fidgeting in wide-eyed impatience as Optimus trudged around the cluttered room by himself. Blackarachnia would describe the armoury as a massive caldron, constructed with walls of blasters, bombs, and blades; all the necessary tools for destruction. None of them wanted to talk after what they had witnessed moments prior, nor did they genuinely want to find out what had happened between Chromia and Prime down that dingy corridor. Most occupants of the sanctuary made way for the group when they weren’t avoiding them outright. They seemed especially upset around Cliffjumper and Arcee, though Blackarachnia presumed it was the former who was really making them nervous. By the time they had reached the armoury, there wasn’t a single other Autobot in sight. For a brief moment, Ironhide would leave, not saying why or where he was going. Nobody asked. When he came back, he had cupped around his servos a small organic, possibly even techno-organic critter resembling that of an eight-legged arachnid. With the new, tiny presence becoming the center of attention, the tension of the room began to decrease.

                Arcee held it in her servo, petting it gently. When nobody else spoke up, she did. ‘What a lovely little guy.’ She said, clearing her throat. ‘What’s his name?’

                ‘You want to know what we named him?’ Blackarachnia asked, distancing herself from the arachnid.

                ‘Well, yeah.’

                ‘Okay, but I warn you, it’s a mouthful.’

                There was a silence as the three other Autobots stared at Blackarachnia. After a few seconds, Arcee spoke. ‘That’s it?’

                ‘Yeah.’

                ‘His name is “A Mouthful?”’

                Blackarachnia grinned proudly. ‘Yeah! We came up with it ourselves.’

                ‘“We” didn’t,’ Ironhide assured her, stuffing Blackarachnia’s lie away with a hand to her mouth. ‘Blackarachnia did. I don’t know why. She wanted the thing gone the moment she laid her eyes on it.’

                The ex-Decepticon tapped the blunt side of her claws against the bulkier Autobot’s shoulder. ‘I told you—it has a double meaning. It’s a joke, but he’s also a literal mouthful. You know, since I had to eat him that one time.’

                Arcee blinked. ‘What?’

                Ironhide outstretched an open servo towards her. ‘Long story.’

                ‘Eh, that’s weird,’ Cliffjumper snorted, folding his arms.

                ‘I like it,’ Arcee said. ‘It’s funny.’

                Cliffjumper looked at Arcee, then quickly back to the others. ‘I mean, yeah, it _is_ kind of funny.’

                Arcee glanced at Ironhide. ‘Shouldn’t you be in there? Oh! Not that I want you to leave or anything…’ her eyes met with Blackarachnia’s briefly who merely shuddered, ‘but I always took you for a sort of a gun-enthusiast.’

                Blackarachnia laughed suddenly. ‘Yeah, no kidding.’

                ‘I’ve got a personal armoury of my own,’ Ironhide explained. ‘I prefer to use weaponry I’m comfortable with is all.’

                ‘You never let me or Prime use any of it,’ Blackarachnia sneered, crossing her arms.

                Ironhide raised his index and middle finger to the smaller Decepticon. ‘Two easy reasons for that. One: because whenever I let you in an inch of my property you find some ungodly way to tamper with it, and two: because I’m the only one that can use them. Physically, not lawfully. They’re all coded to my own CNA. Ergo, they lock up whenever they detect someone other than me trying to use them.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Well, except for the cannons, but I’ve kind of got those equipped permanently so I shouldn’t run into any problems there.’

                Blackarachnia chuckled. It was funny how Ironhide tended to speak of his guns like they were people. Silly Ironhide, guns aren’t people. She turned back to the armoury’s obelisk-shaped doors. Optimus was the only one who needed a weapon, but that only raised more questions for the Ex-Decepticon. ‘Is that why I’ve never seen Optimus wield a gun?’

                Ironhide shook his head hesitantly. ‘Optimus just doesn’t like guns.’

                Cliffjumper scoffed. ‘The dude realizes we’re at war, right?’

                ‘Not for him.’ This time Blackarachnia found herself explaining. ‘Haven’t you heard? Prime’s been chickening out of a fight for, like, a billion years now.’

                ‘He’s not “chickening out,”’ Ironhide gruffed. ‘He’s just… He’s old, and he’s sick of losing.’

                ‘Sounds like chickening out to me.’ Cliffjumper snarled. He acted like he was above the Prime. Something sure to rile the older, larger Ironhide up.

                Ironhide’s fists clenched. Despite the fact that Cliffjumper was already in mid-brace for a punch across the face, Ironhide only shook his head. ‘Neither of you would understand. I _knew_ neither of you would understand.’

                Blackarachnia liked to think she understood it just fine, but she kept her mouth shut in case Ironhide thought good to lecture her.

                Arcee rested her knuckles beneath her chin and frowned. ‘If what you’re saying is true, Ironhide, then that makes this entire situation even more mind-boggling than it already is.’

                Ironhide raised a brow.

                ‘What are you talking about?’ Blackarachnia asked.

                ‘If Optimus doesn’t like guns…’ Arcee pointed to the Armoury doors, open only a crack as to prevent them from locking Optimus in, ‘then what exactly is he doing in there?’

                Ironhide and Blackarachnia stared blankly at the giant doors, unsure themselves. Neither had any answer for her, even Ironhide, who considered Optimus his best friend couldn’t explain the Prime’s actions. Determined to find out, Ironhide raised his voice. ‘Prime? You okay in there?’

                A muffled “Huh?” came from within. He was too far into the armoury to hear them properly.

                Ironhide repeated himself.

                ‘Oh,’ Optimus called back, ‘yeah.’

                Ironhide turned to Arcee then shrugged his shoulders. That was the most he was going to get out of him.

                ‘Oh,’ Arcee remembered. ‘I’m sure they have axes or something in there.’ She shrugged barefaced. ‘Silly me.’ She turned to Blackarachnia. ‘May I ask what your reasoning is for not using guns?’

                Blackarachnia showed her her claws. ‘Most guns aren’t exactly empurata-friendly, I’m afraid.’

                ‘Hm.’ Arcee studied Blackarachnia’s claws thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure there’s something in there that should be able fit around your, er… servos. Maybe Prime can pick something out for you while he’s in there— looking for whatever he’s looking for.’

                ‘Maybe he’s just in there to brood,’ Cliffjumper suggested, leaned his head back, and sighed petulantly. ‘We get it, you have a sad past, get over it.’

                Ironhide’s brow creased. ‘Now you’re just begging me to hit you.’

                Cliffjumper raised his lip. ‘I’m just saying, we all have our own problems. Best focus on the job at hand than sob about stuff that happened forever ago.’

                ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ There he stood, all eyes drawn to him. Optimus Prime in his “glory” or what have you, emerging from the armoury, and standing amongst the group once again. The four flinched in unison, unable to determine when it was he had shown his face. Even little Mouthful made a small chirp in response. What shocked them more than anything, however, was his weapon of choice. In his arms, Optimus carried a massive black rifle with small red highlights. The rifle was no doubt taller than Optimus, with a stand, a scope, and a long barrel that, when squinting, Blackarachnia would have thought resembled something of a Fusion Cannon. The way Optimus held it certainly resembled the way she had seen Megatron hold his infamous weaponry in the past—but it would have been ridiculous to think it anything more than an odd coincidence.

                They had no words, the four stared at him, then to each other, and back again.

                Optimus stared back at them, almost as confused as they were. He turned to Blackarachnia. ‘No handicap-accessible guns I’m afraid. There’s an accessible crossbow which I have placed in subspace just in case, but other than that,’ he shrugged, ‘nothing.’

                Blackarachnia nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’

                He then turned his attention to his weapons specialist. ‘Well, we should be off.’

                ‘Right,’ Ironhide said, turning to Arcee.

                Cliffjumper raised a digit towards the Prime. ‘Hey, I thought you didn’t like to use—‘

                ‘It was good seeing you both,’ Ironhide said, quickly.

                Arcee nodded, smiling warmly at the weapons specialist.

                ‘It was,’ Optimus agreed, offering her a handshake.

                Arcee stared at the gesture for a moment, flinching suddenly as it hovered towards her. She then mirrored the gesture, extending her arm forward, slowly taking his hand, and beginning to shake.

                Optimus blinked, surprised by how tight her grip was. When that was completed, he moved on to Cliffjumper who stood as rebellious and informal as ever. Stopping in front of him, Optimus kneeled down until he found himself at Cliffjumper’s level. He extended a hand towards him like he did Arcee. ‘It was good to finally meet you.’

                Cliffjumper stared at him in surprise. Nobody had ever greeted the mini-bot in this way before. What should have been a demeaning and thoughtless act in crouching to his eye-level somehow made Cliffjumper feel… _Equal?_ Cliffjumper didn’t know _what_ he was feeling. But somehow seeing someone who wasn’t his height eye-to-eye put some things into perspective for him.

When he got up to leave with the others, Cliffjumper stepped forward. ‘Wait, you’re going to need more than three guys on this, why not let me come with?’

                ‘No.’ Arcee and Optimus spoke in unison.

                ‘Why the hell not?’

                ‘It’s a suicide mission,’ Blackarachnia told him. ‘That’s our department, guy, not yours.’

                ‘What do you mean it’s a suicide mission—? My name is Cliffjumper! It literally describes an act of suicide!’

                Arcee placed a hand on his shoulder while moving the other to hand Mouthful back to Ironhide. ‘Just don’t, Cliffjumper.’

                Ironhide nodded to the mini-bot one last time before disappearing down the corridor leading away from the armoury with the others. ‘We already promised Chromia not to drag any of her people down with us, so until then, adios.’

                As they made their ways back towards the Ark, Blackarachnia pestered Ironhide. ‘“Adios? Seriously?’

                ‘I’m not a good improviser with words. Goodbyes are me at my worst.’

                ‘Still, that was lame even for you.’

                When there were no doubts as to whether they were gone, Cliffjumper dashed in front of Arcee, puffing out his chest to its maximum capacity. ‘What’s the deal? We don’t have anything important on our hands or anything, and those guys are going to need help! And you and me—we’re professional assassins. We’re perfect for this job. _Born_ for this job. This job has our names written all over it, in fact.’ He crossed his arms and began tapping his foot against the steel floor. ‘You telling me we’re not going to give them any form of assist? Not even as some kind of last minute cavalry-charging-to-the-rescue sort of way?’

                Arcee stared at him through cold eyes. Eyes she had kept under lock and key ever since Optimus had arrived, only to let them shed as soon as those droopy dog-eyes of his own out of her face. ‘It’s a suicide mission, Cliffjumper. I know, don’t give me that crap about your name, but this is actually going to result in his death. Chromia is optimistic, but I’ve no doubts that he and his crew won’t be coming back—even if we _were_ to accompany them, in which it’s like they said, we’d only be laying ourselves down next to them in the flames. Prime’s built with incompetence, only difference here is that this failure will be Prime’s last.’

                Cliffjumper tilted his head as Arcee began rolling away. ‘What?’

                ‘Optimus is a failure, and he’s going to get Ironhide and Blackarachnia killed. It’s a pity, I was growing quite fond of that Decepticon. She was interesting. For a Decepticon.’

                ‘Decepticon—? Never mind. I don’t know why you’re getting all cynical on me. Optimus seemed actually…’ The word escaped him, then as if he were smacked across the head by some guardian angel or guiding force, he remembered. ‘ _Nice.’_

                ‘Being nice doesn’t necessitate skill, Cliffjumper. You can be Vermillia Spreem reincarnated, but it’s not going to save you from the fact that you can’t do your jobs.’ She stared Cliffjumper down as she rolled along the chrome-coloured floor. ‘Over twelve-hundred Autobots – and even more organics – died under his poor leadership, my sister included. As “nice” as he is, Optimus would do very well to leave this universe permanently before he continues to hurt those around him. Intentional or not.’

                Convinced not to press, Cliffjumper surrendered the discussion to her. He liked her better when she was mean anyway. They continued down the winding hallways of Elita’s Sancuary. Those who spotted them either avoided them entirely, or cowered in fear. Cliffjumper knew that if it were just him, it would be different. He could say “hi” without any form of cowardice or avoidance on their behalf. Arcee, however, was used to this sort of thing. She was the one they feared, after all. After a long trek of silence, Arcee led Cliffjumper up a story and down to their secret reconnaissance room. Cliffjumper began to juggle his suspicions. ‘Wait, where are we going? What are we doing now?’

                ‘Now?’ Arcee entered the room. It was cluttered with radios, technology and screens. It was as if someone took the Hub’s communications room and shoved it into a closet. She stopped in front of one screen in particular and tapped at the holographic keys that flashed into view. ‘We’re doing our jobs.’

                In moments, the screen flashed, and a thin, green line drew itself against a black backdrop. The line represented sound volume emitting from the screen’s speakers, and would spike should any sound filter through them. Arcee tapped a button before speaking into the mic. ‘This is Special Operations Agent Arcee reporting to Autobot Military Director Prowl. We’ve found him.’

                The line went berserk.

\-----

                The Ark was off the ground in seconds, rotating and spawning out of the base’s hangar before shooting back out through the atmosphere and into the breadth of space. They were free to warp, Optimus knew. He just didn’t know how long he had before Bludgeon found wherever this escaped prisoner was and re-obtained the Ark’s serial-code. He could have already accomplished it for all he knew. Optimus realized he forgot to ask Chromia for their name. Dammit. He supposed it shouldn’t matter as long as they find the Autobot, though thinking like that would have jinxed the mission for sure. Still, they were out of communications range with Chromia anyway, so there was little choice but to go back. And Optimus didn’t want to go back. Warping occurred just as it always did, but it definitely put Prime on a sharper edge than it would have before this whole fiasco. When the sector’s spacebridge had done its job, and the Ark emerged on the other side of the tunnel. Optimus let out a loud sigh of relief; there wasn’t an ounce of a Decepticon waiting for him.

                While Optimus piloted the ship, Blackarachnia and Ironhide conversed a distance away behind him. Blackarachnia, as always, was especially animated compared to the statue-esque Ironhide.

                ‘Actually, they had a point,’ Blackarachnia argued. ‘We could have at least guilt-tripped them into giving us Cliffjumper.’

                Ironhide shook his head. ‘Nah, Prime’s right to leave them out of this. Besides, the kid’s a nightmare. We’re pulling a stealth op, remember? You really want to bring someone like that along?’

                Blackarachnia brought a claw to her face, then nodded. ‘That guy was a freak. And that’s coming from me.’ She chuckled. ‘You see how he looked at Arcee? How he agreed with everything she said?’

                Ironhide trembled. Part of it was out of natural reflex, but most of it was for the sake of drama. The thought was disturbing indeed. ‘Aw, I didn’t even notice that until you brought it up. I knew Arcee when she was just a spark for Prima sake!’

                Blackarachnia winced, but kept her grin out of the satisfaction of having a target of ridicule other than herself. ‘Sometimes I cherish the way we accept and agree to hate each-other’s guts, Ironhide, I really do. But what can I say? Creepers are gonna creep.’ Though when she said the words, Arcee’s face came to mind. Her expression faltered as she peered over Ironhide’s shoulder. Prime was working the controls, or filing some kind of report, or doing something else entirely. Blackarachnia didn’t care. What she did care about, was her boss’s attitude from here on out. ‘Hey, boss-bot. You got a load of that Cliffjumper, right?’

                Optimus was as still as ever. His large upper body resembled that of a red monolith, perpetually stuck in place in front of his controls— forever to watch over the Ark’s flight progress until some stray wind toppled him over.

                When she didn’t get an immediate response, Blackarachnia’s eye-lids turned to her slits, and her posture dropped. Having him act like this was killing her, and when she turned to Ironhide, he was just the same. Prime’s negativity had turned the bigger weapons specialist into a brooding mess. Though half the time Blackarachnia found Ironhide’s expression nigh impossible to read (his body-language tended to tell enough), there was no doubt in her mind that he was displaying his utmost concern towards the Prime. They stood slouched and disappointed. Having someone to rely on, no matter the context, act in a negative way only dragged out the worst forms of despondency from any lower peon in the chain of command.

                That was the worst poison for any military machine, Optimus knew, no matter how small its numbers. He turned his head in such a small gesture that it could have easily been a trick of the light, when he found himself noticed by the others, he turned his erect body around to face them. He stared at them, and they stared back. Neither party faltered a shred of emotion. After a moment of staring, Optimus frowned, and tapped his chin in thought. Though it was a minor gesture, he performed the act with as much flair and as much significance as he could muster. ‘Indeed,’ he boomed in a loud, lower tone of voice. ‘But remember, Autobots, we must remain accepting of all life no matter how “strange” or “unnecessary” they may act.’ He had already struck himself a pose, his index finger pointed high above his head, and his hip jutted out to an angle. ‘For even in our darkest hour, we must band together; set aside our differences. Until then, we will never truly…’ he paused for effect, then raised his head and brought a hand to his collar as if he were about to take a headshot picture for some imaginary election. ‘Succeed!’

                He held his pose while Ironhide and Blackarachnia looked on in bafflement. Jaws dropped, finally, Blackarachnia exclaimed: ‘That was horrible!’

                Ironhide nodded in vigorous agreement.

                ‘You couldn’t think of _anything_ original. You couldn’t even think of anything… good?’

                Optimus dropped his pose, though his expression remained as indifferent as it ever was. ‘Yeah, well… shut up. Besides, you and Ironhide are ones to talk.’

                Blackarachnia jumped, squawking and giggling gleefully.

                Ironhide stepped forward, smiling thankfully. ‘That’s the Prime I know. Good man!’

                Optimus nodded, then straightened his posture. ‘Now, your mission, should you choose to accept it—‘

                ‘We have a choice?’

                ‘No, Blackarachnia. Your mission - which you have no choice but to accept at this point - is to accompany me through a Decepticon controlled city state. Theopany is home to Bludgeon: the craziest, deadliest Decepticon zealot ever known to Cybertron!’ He paced, tracing maps in the palm of his hand, though this action did little more than make it look like he had a plan. Which he didn’t. Not entirely, anyway. ‘We are tasked with infiltrating the city, finding the escaped prisoner of which Bludgeon used to track our locations, and taking them back to Chromia without getting caught.’ He stopped his pacing and turned to them, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Piece of cake.’

                ‘Arcee already told us everything,’ Blackarachnia told him. ‘But whatever. What I want to know is how we’re going to sneak by Bludgeon’s defenses? I mean if Chromia couldn’t…’

                Optimus showed her his palms. ‘Don’t worry, I have a plan for that. Our biggest concern is maneuvering through the city without being caught.’ He thought for a moment, then clapped his hands. ‘Alright, we’ll be approaching the planet’s range of detection any minute now, before we make our move, I want us to be fully prepared for any spontaneous retaliations.’ He pointed a commanding digit at the two. ‘Blackarachnia, find out what you can about the Decepticons we’re up against. I want names, numbers, and histories. You have access to the computer terminal, the internet, and anything else at your disposal. Ironhide, a word, please.’

                While Ironhide looked a tad perplexed, Blackarachnia performed her typically lazy salute. ‘Aye sir.’ She started off to perform her duties as Ironhide dogged her. ‘I’ll be checking in on you later. I swear if I find you using this opportunity to play online boggle again I will dutifully notify Optimus of your actions and have your privileges rightfully curtailed.’

                Blackarachnia waved her claws high above her head, her back still towards them. ‘Whatever man, you and your forced words can just chill. I’ll do my job.’ With that she was gone, leaving Optimus and Ironhide alone on the main deck. Ironhide took his side, staring out the front-view window alongside his leader. He turned his head, spotting the large rifle leaning against the console. It was the one Optimus had obtained from Chromia’s armoury. Ironhide whistled. ‘Never thought I’d see you swing around a rifle that huge.’

                Optimus spied the figure of Megatron in the corner of his eye. He felt the new presence to be completely unprecedented and intrusive. He felt his anger building within him, only to remember at the last minute that what he was looking at was not Megatron, but a hallucination spawned from his own inner turmoil. That was one way to embarrass himself to his own knowledge. He was afraid he was growing too attached to the fake-Megatron clouding his thoughts, peppering his dreams with brief wit and knowledge that ended before any cerebral lesson had been taught. From across the room, Megatron gave Optimus a thumbs up, then vanished into the shadows.

                Ironhide didn’t seem to notice Prime’s momentary change in disposition, or at the very least, wasn’t giving any hints of awareness towards it. He continued rambling on about Prime’s choice of weaponry for the mission. Prime wondered how he’d react should he tell him that the ghost of Megatron recommended it to him.

                ‘With something like that in our hands you’d think we wouldn’t _need_ to make this a covert mission.’

                Optimus swiftly drew a servo up to the weapons specialist, shaking it slightly. ‘Let’s not test that theory, eh?’

                Ironhide belted a laugh. He looked Optimus in the eye, sobering himself. ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’

                There was a lot Optimus wanted to tell him. About his feelings towards the bounty on his head, about his feelings towards killing an unarmed combatant, no matter how objectively evil they were. He wanted to tell Ironhide about how much he hated himself for the harm he caused Chromia and Arcee and all the others. He wanted to tell him the name of the person he was trying to find, even if it would break their friendship. He wanted to tell Ironhide about how he was hallucinating his victim, and that his presence somehow calmed him down when by all accounts it should have done the opposite. And by all means, he could tell Ironhide all of it. He wasn’t above talking about his feelings to his friend. In fact they had done so plenty in the past. That wall of machismo that stands between every two males in the universe thins over time. After centuries of knowing Ironhide as a fellow soldier, a subordinate, and a friend, their wall had thinned into paper. He could tell Ironhide everything that bothered him in the galaxy, from the paint chipping on the Ark’s walls to his impending death.

                He couldn’t.

                It was funny, how little he and Ironhide spoke these days. He remembered back when they were young. When he and Ironhide bragged to each other about the scars they received in training, when they would go into lengthy debates on gun control and military responsibilities; when they would talk about simple things, like Prime’s soaps, or Ironhide’s silver-age comics, or videogames that neither understood, but both loved to play regardless.

                What happened?

                He could hear the thoughts reverberating with Megatron’s putrid form of sarcasm mashed with cynicism.

                Optimus and Ironhide were the sun and the moon. It was a grotesquely romantic notion, but Optimus had to admit it. Ironhide was his best friend. How it happened he didn’t know. There were, of course, those small doubts that Ironhide had others whom he would consider better friends than Prime. Of course, Optimus didn’t have many friends.

                He guessed they just didn’t have time for it anymore. Nobody could blame them. As much as he wanted to return to those days, Optimus couldn’t tell Ironhide what he felt now. How he had changed. If he told Ironhide the things he knew and felt. How his mind was slipping. How he had considered things old Orion Pax would never have considered… To tell Ironhide what he had considered doing to himself—it would break his heart. If these truly were some of the final days he would spend with his best friend, then he was not about to make them unhappy ones. No matter how fake he felt himself.

                ‘I want to tell you how we’ve managed to live this long,’ Optimus told him. Getting to the topic at hand.

                Ironhide watched him, cocked his head slightly, and nodded. ‘Okay, how have we lived this long?’

                Optimus lifted his digits. ‘I mean in terms of the Ark falling off the grid. I haven’t said a word about it or how I accomplished it since the bounty for my head began.’

                ‘Oh.’ Ironhide obviously hadn’t considered it before. Either he assumed Ark’s could do that, or he legitimately thought they were just that lucky. It wasn’t impossible. ‘Well alright then. Say a word.’

                ‘Blackarachnia.’

                Ironhide looked puzzled. ‘What about her?’

                ‘She’s the reason we haven’t been killed by every Decepticon in the known Galaxy yet.’

                Ironhide didn’t appear convinced, he merely folded his arms, pondering what that could possibly have entailed. ‘Explain.’

                ‘Back at the beginning—when Prowl was talking to me and I was… acting really unprofessional, Prowl warned me of a mysterious entity wiping out Autobot outposts by the dozen and leaving no survivors. The entity is forged from black matter metals that are known to cause disturbances in electronic and satellite projections. This entity exists in a perpetual field of dark-space that stretches to about a mile long radius. It renders the entity and its surroundings invisible to all forms of tracking, radar, and system memory. Hence how it was impossible for Prowl to locate it with the Hub’s computers. The only form of contact between anything in dark-space and… space, are vid and phone-calls, but then they can only occur when projected from within the dark-space, and to other participants in this space, assuming an EMP hasn’t already been lit... This dark spot cannot be turned off, and by all indirect appearances, it makes the entity and its surrounding’s cease to exist. The only way to identify this entity is to see it in person. And that we did. Approximately two minutes ago.’

                ‘Blackarachnia…’ Ironhide nodded, mulling over the thought. He pinched his chin. ‘Prowl knows we defeated his “entity”…’

                ‘But I don’t know if he’s made the connection or not.’

                ‘Mm…’ Ironhide was lost in his thoughts. He didn’t seem bothered by it, only mildly stunned. He unfolded, the refolded his arms, looking Optimus in the eye once again. ‘Why the big secret?’

                Optimus felt ashamed to admit it. He didn’t plan on telling Ironhide at all at one point. But matters changed. ‘This was before you found out about how Megatron di—about what I did. I knew someone was going to come after me after what I had done, and I knew I needed to go into hiding. Problem is, anyone can find you if you fly around in a massive, golden spaceship and give off a Primal-Positive spark-signature, so I used what was available to me at the time. I didn’t know how Blackarachnia did it until I operated on her after our skirmish with the Seacons and did my follow-up research, but at the time of my mistake, I chose to let Blackarachnia live so I could disappear completely. Otherwise there was the high probability that going off-line would cut off the black-matter’s power source.’ His head lowered. ‘I was going to kill her, Ironhide. At the beginning with Cog, and the others… I hated her as much as you did—do, and I was _very_ much ready to avenge them. But I knew that if I were to do that, they’d be able to find us, and it would kill me, and kill you. So I let her live. Not out of respect or—or to eliminate factional biases, but to turn invisible so I could keep myself from feeling the universe’s stares.’ He shook his head, spark swelling in his chest. ‘I still can’t believe myself.’

                Ironhide watched him as he finished. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? Tell _me_?’

                ‘This was when I didn’t want you to know I killed Megatron. I was also self-conscious and… well if I told you we needed to go into hiding, there would be no avoiding telling you the truth. After that was out of the bag, I guess I was just afraid it would change the way you treated Blackarachnia. Well, comparatively speaking. I wanted you to know we had another Cybertronian on our team, not a tool.’ His lips curved into a sad smile. ‘I took too long to realize that.’

When he was sure Optimus was done, the black Autobot straightened his posture, and cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, I knew.’

                Optimus raised his head. ‘What?!’

                ‘Oh, not about the black-metals, or the dark-spots, or you doing it to go into hiding. But I knew you were pissed at her just as well. I just couldn’t fathom why you were letting her live when clearly you were trying to convince yourself not to throw her out. Now I know. Mystery solved.’

                Optimus blinked, bewildered by Ironhide’s calmly tone. ‘Does… does that make me a bad person?’

                Ironhide scoffed. ‘Course not. Blackarachnia killed two people in cold-blood. People we knew. Anyone would feel angered by that. Just look at cool-and-collected me!’ His faceplate bended into a smile. ‘What matters is that even if you didn’t believe in your philosophy then, you believe in it now. Am I right?’

                There was no question. While Blackarachnia was stubborn, reckless, and noisy, Optimus had grown to accept her as a Cybertronian who happened to fight on the opposite side of the war. He was still not ready to forgive certain aspects of her own philosophies, but he knew that as bad as she was, he had done things as an active soldier just as bad if not worse. ‘Yes,’ he said.

                ‘Of course I am! You considered yourself a bad person over that?’

                There were a few reasons why Optimus considered himself a bad person, but he wasn’t about to get into that. ‘To use someone for my own gain… I guess it made me feel less like a Prime, and more like a Prowl.’

                Ironhide let out a pfft-noise. ‘Seriously?’

                Optimus shrugged.

                ‘Hm.’ He looked over his shoulder, making sure that Blackarachnia wasn’t listening in. When he was certain she wasn’t, he asked: ‘You didn’t want Blackarachnia to know?’

                ‘Of course not.’

                Ironhide said. ‘You don’t suppose she’d break down and cry or anything, do you?’ Before adding. ‘That’s a rhetorical question. She’s tough, Prime.’

                ‘And she probably couldn’t care less. I know. I can picture her laughing in my face just for suggesting she has feelings. But everyone has a center. Tell me, Ironhide, would you still tell her the truth, even if there was a small chance it could hurt her?’

                Ironhide sighed. ‘You’re too nice for this universe, Optimus. You know that?’

                Optimus smiled. ‘“his universe” has horrible standards.’

                The weapons-specialist nodded, dusted himself off and turned aside to face the view outside the Ark’s front-window. They were passing by a nearby sun that shone light down through the curved windows, illuminating the dust-particles floating aimlessly between them. ‘Quite the talk, Prime.’

                Optimus laughed, then covered his face with one hand. ‘I’m sorry. I only meant to fill you in—I didn’t mean to make this about me.’

                ‘Heh, you don’t have to worry about it. You don’t have to worry about Blackarachnia either. She’s annoying. And loud. And lazy. And obnoxious. And smells bad. Also a sadist. But – if you tell her I said this I’ll break your legs – I think somewhere in there she has the making of an Autobot with great promise—‘

                At that, a loud explosion shook the the ship. After a few more seconds, Blackarachnia came darting from down the hall, panting, and covered in soot. When Optimus and Ironhide drew their weapons in anticipation of a battle, she raised her hands defensively and blew wind up her lower lip to remove the soot blackening her face. It didn’t work. ‘Okay, don’t get mad, but I blew-up the computer room.’

                Ironhide swung his arms, and his cannons activated with fiery build-up. His eye-twitched, and his steps boomed as he marched towards the former Decepticon. ‘You blew up—what?! Blackarachnia, you clumsy, useless, no-good, waste-of-time-and-space, slime-ball! I ought to turn you inside out and barbecue your stalks for Mouthful to call his dinner!’

                Blackarachnia giggle-squeaked and pattered off, followed by an enraged Ironhide chasing her down, preparing to deliver to her a verbal thrashing of infinite magnitude.

                When they were gone, Optimus chuckled, then turned to look out the front-view window. They were fast approaching Theopany. There were two ways things could go down. Either they would hit it off and be in and out without having the face any sort of consequences, all according to plan with sunshine and rainbows galore, or Optimus would have to face the self-proclaimed “Lord” Bludgeon of the Decepticons. Head of the pirate fleets, and long-time master of the ancient martial art of Metallikato. Presumably in some form of cyber-ninja death match, Optimus presumed.

                Whether the outcome was looking good or bad no longer mattered, because the Ark was now coming in hot towards Theopany, and until they found their objective, there was no going back.


	43. Skies over Theopany

Wingspan frowned over the interstellar monitor. Something was happening that shouldn’t have. A lone golden dot was caught on one of the auto-railguns’ cameras. Though odd, he detected no visible energy signature. Something like that couldn’t possibly be relevant, could it? He did, however, want to learn more. After his embarrassing defeat at the hands of Optimus, Wingspan decided he needed something to keep his mind off things. He was the smartest unit under Cannonball’s command, and one of the smartest under Bludgeon’s. He was a data-processor for most of his life, and gained a great deal of wealth because of it. Oh how times have changed. He loathed his lowered position and the lack of power it granted him. He was actually looking forward to this—to travel the universe, making discoveries and uncovering secrets—turns out the universe was quite boring. Anything Wingspan found mildly new or interesting was soon obliterated by either Tornado or Cannonball amidst their journey for wealth. Rarely was there enough time to research cultures and customs, and when he did, the information would no longer be relevant what with the species meeting its demise within the hour. He’d argue that Cannonball, and to a much greater extent, Bludgeon that their history of world razing, pillaging, and conquest was detrimental to Cybertron’s universalization and a waste of potential resources. Of course, Wingspan was smart enough to know that Cannonball would only laugh in his face for being soft while Bludgeon would probably execute him for suggesting the research of a culture belonging to anything other than Cybertron. He got his jollies when he could, asking occupants for information that would be rendered pointless as soon as Bludgeon or Cannonball came in and stormed the place. Back at Kaon he was THE data-processor. Everything met his gaze. And everything had an answer that he intended to find. There, he was a highly important individual, here, he was nothing more than a grunt. Maybe he was developing into the role after all. To encounter an Autobot with as many questions behind them as Optimus had overridden his processor, and before he knew it he was surrendering before the Prime with his hands shivering above his helm. He lamented; they weren’t even good questions he asked. He hoped to shape up and fast. Then, hopefully, he could get out of this place. He tapped at the screen, the dot could have easily been a smudge, but then, smudges don’t grow in size as they approach your fully automated rail-guns. It was a ship, a golden one at that.  
  
 _A golden ship… not showing up on our sensors?_  It fit the bill of the Ark he oh so dreaded, but there was no way Optimus would be coming to  _them_. ‘Commander,’ he spoke up, and Bugly too his side. The massive Decepticon stood perched over his shoulder, though it was Krok who was in charge.   
  
Krok came soon after, watching as Wingspan double-checked his findings. ‘Report,’ he ordered.  
  
Wingspan gestured towards the screen. ‘There’s a golden spaceship approaching the planet, though it seems to be evading our sensors.’ He craned his head around to face Krok. ‘What do you think it is? It looks to be Ark-class, but it couldn’t be OUR Ark, could it? What could it possibly be?’  
  
Krok raised a hand to the talkative Decepticon. ‘At ease, let me have a look.’  
  
Bugly snarled. ‘ _I_  will have a look.’ And then pretended to examine the image he had been examining ever since Wingspan spoke the word “commander”. ‘It could very well be the Ark.’  
  
Krok spared Bugly a glance and massaged his chin. ‘Whatever it is, the rail-guns should be able to detect it once it’s in range.’ He frowned. ‘Shouldn’t they?’  
  
‘That’s the big mystery, Commander.’ Wingspan tapped at the glass. ‘They  _are_  in range.’  
  
Krok’s brows creased further. Before he could speak, Bugly grabbed Wingspan by the shoulder and pushed him down against the console. Upon rubbing his face against the hard metal, a burning sensation in the form of sparks had begun to crackle before his optics.  
  
‘Watch your tongue!’ Bugly spat. ‘I am the one closest to our Leader, I am the one you will address as Commander!’  
  
Wingspan gargled some oil as he lifted his head under Bugly’s strength. How he was still so strong after suffering major wounds an afternoon ago was beyond him. As the lone survivor of the prison’s guard, Bludgeon expected a detailed report from him on who it was that stole the prisoner and killed his mechs in the process, but Bugly couldn’t recall a thing. Apparently the perpetrator was “too fast for the eye to see”. Sounded a little too convenient for Wingspan to believe, but he wasn’t going to argue. Besides, Bugly being the identity of their suspect would have made the least sense.  
  
‘For the record, Bugly,’ Krok started, ‘seniority does excuse you from following the chain of command. I am Lieutenant Commander of the Decepticons whether you like it or not.’ He began to ponder. ‘But then, I’m not the only one who outranks you, am I? There’s also Cannonball, Gutcruncher, Banzaitron and Starscream if his reclamation of Aerospace Commander is legitimate. There’s Obsidian, Strika, Cannonball’s second: Brimstone, Tornado—I think even Crankcase is ranked above you as well, now that he’s charged with the Dreads.’  
  
Of course Bugly knew everything Krok was saying to be true. He had seen each of them promoted, purchased, and inducted into Bludgeon’s army since the very beginning. Krok was merely giving him some context on the weight of his actions; hinting that maybe he wasn’t nearly as close to the top as he liked to believe. Bugly the mystic: Bludgeon’s equal, and only ally since their childhoods: Thirteenth in command of their army. What made it worse was with the induction of Obsidian, he was no longer Bludgeon’s head strategist. He had devolved into a poor man’s Obsidian, and that infuriated him. Yes, Bugly knew all about who commanded who and what, but military ranks meant nothing to him. True power existed in his domination over others, no matter their title. Roadblock was a perfect example of this. He was a ground commander whose very presence even terrified the Decepticons ranked above him. It was Bludgeon’s philosophy as well, though where they differed, Bludgeon had chosen to lead through sheer charisma, while Bugly would have led entirely through fear. Fear was also incorporated into Bludgeon’s style of leadership just fine, so Bugly had no complaints. It was these outsiders that really bothered Bugly. He understood the need for them, and why their ranks fit their capabilities, but Bugly refused to believe he belonged lower in the chain of command than Krok of all idiots. It wasn’t really a secret that he thought this, of course, but he knew to keep his mouth shut when the time called for it to be.  
  
He let out another snarl, then lumbered back over to Wingspan. ‘If they aren’t coming up on our readings, and the rail-guns aren’t picking them up…’  
  
Krok squinted. ‘Then there’s no doubt it’s the same Ark manned by Optimus Prime.’ He lunged over and tapped into Wingspan’s console. Blue and white images reflected off his silver face-plate as he punched through a call to Bludgeon’s personal quarters.  
  
‘I should lead an aerial force to make contact before it reaches the ground,’ Bugly suggested before quickly adding. ‘But yes, call Bludgeon—get his opinion on the matter first.’  
  
Bludgeon’s face appeared on the screen, scowling as usual. ‘Please tell me some good news for a change.’  
  
Krok and Wingspan exchanged glances before turning back to Bludgeon’s image. ‘Depends what you mean by “good”,’ Krok said.  
  
‘An Ark-Class spaceship just breached the planet’s atmosphere,’ Wingspan explained. ‘And the rail-guns aren’t detecting them, what do you think we should do? Should we attack it?’  
  
Bludgeon’s brows raised, then lowered. ‘If it’s who we think it is, then we need to blow it out of the sky. Immediately! He looked to Bugly. ‘Bugly, I need you to do me a favor.’  
  
Bugly nearly collapsed with happiness.  
  
‘I need you to patch me through to Starscream. I want him to lead an assault against the ship before it lands.’  
  
\-----  
  
The room’s communications console whined. Thundercracker was busy taking notes on how he was going to defuse Skywarp from the ship (while practising his screen-writing on the side in secret) when it made itself known.  
  
‘Can somebody get that?’ He called out.  
  
The console droned on.  
  
He turned around. Out of the remaining two brigadiers still lounging about in the room, Strika was fast asleep (and snoring quite loudly at that), and Slipstream was satisfying her pent-up energy by wandering around and bumping into things.  
  
Thundercracker looked over his chair, draping his arm around the other side. ‘Slipstream, I’m talking to you. Can you get that for me?’  
  
Slipstream walked over, punched the console, and then fell over. While she hadn’t been knocked out by the fall, she chose to remain lying prone on the floor; her eyes wide open.  
  
Thundercracker growled, swinging his chair aside and marching towards the console furiously. ‘You couldn’t stop being an idiot long enough to answer a phone?!’ He nudged her still body aside and answered the call.  
  
Bludgeon and Krok’s faces lit up on the screen. If that wasn’t enough to take Thundercracker aback, there was a definite air of urgency to their call. ‘Lord Bludgeon,’ Thundercracker choked. ‘Uh… How may I serve you?’  
  
‘Save the formalities, Thundercracker,’ Bludgeon said this, then wondered. ‘You were placed under my command at one point, were you not?’  
  
‘I think I might have, sir.’ But Thundercracker remembered crystal clear the awful conditions he had to endure serving under Bludgeon. Bludgeon, especially at the time, was a Decepticon of the worst variety. He was of a lower rank back then, and wore a much simpler body, but that only made it worse. It reminded Thundercracker that he was in fact a Cybertronian and not some half-formed monster. At the time, Thundercracker drifted from practise to practise; from outpost to outpost. It was only a matter of time before he fell into Bludgeon’s clutches. Thundercracker was a Primalist for as long as he could remember. He didn’t necessarily care what anyone’s beliefs were, nor did he doubt what he believed in was nothing more than some made up fairy tales. What mattered to him was that the Covenant’s ability to guide him. In the long run, he’d rather believe in something than to believe in nothing at all, even if that something wasn’t really there. Faith, as it was. Funnily enough, Thundercracker was actually looking forward to working with a fellow Primalist. After his first mission with Bludgeon, however, he already wanted to go home.  
  
Thundercracker and Bludgeon served in the Mayhem Reserve with Dirge, Carnivac, and Fracture. Fracture led them naturally as any saboteur leader would, but when she decided to abandon the Decepticons for her own ventures, Bludgeon stepped up, and with his temporary power, led the mayhems to devastate planets that hadn’t been on their list to begin with. At the time, Bludgeon had no emotion, nor any wise words to share. He never spoke unless to give orders, and even then, they were monosyllabic phrases such as “kill” and “repent”. He was so violent and unforgiving with his sprees that even the clearly insane Carnivac had to take a step back and rethink his allegiances.  
  
Thundercracker saw himself as a devoted Primalist, but not nearly as devoted as others had been. He believed certain ideals present in the Pentateuch such as the belief that every Cybertronian had the right to become as superior as their body-structures and processors would allow, and that their worth was measured in their ability to do so. It was one that spawned plenty of controversy in terms of what it implied towards disposable and bestial classes who were born with obvious handicaps compared to the humanoids. If you took it a step further, you could say that those born with flight were made automatically superior to those who lacked the ability to do so. What made Bludgeon worse was his belief in every detail present in the covenant. All of the cleverly placed metaphors and otherwise delusional thinking was worshipped by Bludgeon nightly alongside two others who Thundercracker would later recognize as Bugly and Mindwipe. They believed everything from the execution of all atheists and the domination of all inferior life-forms to the existence of the Last Autobot and the coming of the Fallen. When Bludgeon tortured and nearly killed Dirge for accidentally spouting “there is no God” in one of his anxiety driven rants, Thundercracker did well to notify high-command, and soon enough, Bludgeon was demoted and transferred to Snarler’s division.   
  
Thundercracker himself, constantly despising his past life, had changed significantly from his more bigoted days. Three thousand years ago he would have considered every animal as a lower life-form not worth his time. But after fighting alongside the likes of Trypticon, Thundercracker knew full well which one of them was the true inferior. After centuries of fighting in a war that he personally found grotesque, Thundercracker’s contempt towards what he once considered lower-life forms evolved into pity and small doses respect. Whatever remaining hard-core Primalist beliefs that plagued him had been directed in full towards the Autobots. Megatron and Starscream taught him that the Autobots were the true lower life-forms, not because of their bodies, but because of their own beliefs. It made sense to Thundercracker, the ignorant deserve ignorance, and thus they deserved to be shut down. Even if he had some reservations to the Decepticon’s means of doing so. While he still considered himself a religious sort, if anything quelled his devotion over time, it was Bludgeon. And while he changed, Bludgeon, enthusiasm and leadership aside, clearly did not.  
  
‘On more important matters,’ Krok spoke up, waking Thundercracker and Bludgeon out of their lulls and reminding them of the task at hand. ‘Thundercracker, where is Starscream?’  
  
 _Starscream is currently at a secret conference with Banzaitron and Gutcruncher planning to overthrow your majesty and burn your city to the ground_. If Thundercracker wanted to tell the truth, that was what he’d say, but since he wasn’t an idiot or a sadist: ‘Starscream is still under repairs I’m afraid. What seems to be the matter?’  
  
Bludgeon made a low hum through his beard of wires, how his facial systems worked left Thundercracker puzzled. Bludgeon answered: ‘The Ark has breached our orbital defenses. It is approaching the city as we speak.’  
  
That took Thundercracker by surprise. Had Optimus finally lost it? Or was it some kind of trick. ‘You want us to attack it?’  
  
‘No, I want you to take it out on a date—of course I want you to attack it! If Starscream is currently indisposed then who else is there to lead you?’  
  
‘Normally Obsidian acts as our Sub-Commander, but he is currently caught up with something at the moment.’ Really, Thundercracker had no idea where the strategist had gotten off to. Part of him didn’t want to know. Obsidian had kept him wary ever since he had accidentally stumbled into his lab that one time and was nearly murdered for it. He only hoped whatever he was planning wasn’t anything too extravagant. He had enough with surprises. ‘Strika can’t fly, and Slipstream is incompetent. I’m afraid I am the only Seeker left available, sir.’  
  
Bludgeon didn’t lose his temper, but he did let out a low growl. ‘Well, that’s a shame.’ His voice was high, presumably to mask his doubts. ‘Thundercracker, I want you to lead a team of whatever aerial combatants you can scrounge in the next thirty seconds, and launch.’  
  
It was Krok’s turn to speak. ‘You have Tornado, Brimstone, Bugly, Spinister, Roadgrabber, Ferak, and Wingspan to command.’ He had left out Misfire with the clear knowledge that including him would do more harm than good.  
  
Thundercracker cringed. ‘Ferak is busy with engineering matters at the moment…’ truthfully he just hated the guy enough to reject him from the roster out of spite, even if he really was busy with his engineering work. Win-win for Thundercracker. ‘The rest should do fine.’  
  
From over the line, a snobbish, cricketing voice echoed. ‘Lord Bludgeon! With all due respect, Thundercracker is a mere foot-soldier. I doubt handing command over to him because of his association with Starscream would be your best idea yet. I’m sure even Tornado would be a better fit for command.’  
  
‘Fine then.’ Bludgeon was evidently losing his patience, they were in a rush after all. ‘Wingspan, inform Tornado and Brimstone of the matter at hand. I want Tornado in particular to listen to Thundercracker’s suggestions and judge them from there.’  
  
But Bugly was persistent. ‘My Lord, I  _am_  a military strategist. In Obsidian’s absence would it not be best for me to parlay my own wisdom to General Tornado?’  
  
Bludgeon whipped his head back and growled. ‘Yes. Sure! Tell Tornado to take down both of your opinions! We’re running out of time, Bugly, deploy!’  
  
From over the line, Wingspan’s voice came. ‘Sirs, not that I’m a coward – hell, why would I be one in the first place--? But I think my duties would be best suited monitoring the Ark’s trajectory from here rather than fighting out there.’  
  
‘Very well,’ Krok said while maintaining his gaze on the Seeker. ‘Thundercracker—thirty seconds, be quick about it.’  
  
The line went dead, and Thundercracker bolted out of his chair.  
  
‘What was that all about?’ A waking Strika asked as he darted by.  
  
‘No time to talk. The Ark is here and there is a great possibility that I’m about to squander our futures in the next thirty seconds. I’ll be back in a bit.’  
  
‘Oh,’ she said before falling back to sleep.  
  
Thundercracker transformed and bolted into the sky. The worst part about this whole mess was that he would somehow have to force himself to lose this one. If they did kill Optimus, then it would have been in Bludgeon’s name, and Bludgeon would be crowned Lord. If he didn’t, Bludgeon would no doubt execute him for his troubles. To say he was in a predicament was an understatement.  
  
\-----  
  
Bludgeon hovered over Wingspan’s position thoughtfully. ‘You are quite the clever one when it comes to avoiding combat, Wingspan.’  
  
Wingspan grinned. ‘I don’t mind combat, with all due respect, I only mind Bugly.’  
  
‘"With all due respect,"’ Bludgeon imitated. ‘Enough of that, I’m not going to execute you for sharing your personal opinion of another soldier. On the other hand, mutter those four words to me one more time, and I just might execute you for that.’  
  
Wingspan looked up from his console inquisitively. ‘I would have thought Bugly to be a respected individual around here. He and his mysticism and what have you.’  
  
‘Oh I respect him plenty as a superior life-form among my forces. But that will be immaterial before long. Once the lot of you are cleansed, you will be required only to treat others with the same level of respect they treat to you.’  
  
Wingspan found something incredibly disturbing about that sentence, but couldn’t say a word about what it was. If he did, then Bludgeon really would have killed him for his concerns.  
  
Bludgeon’s turned serious. ‘But enough of that. I should have asked about the Nemesis’ status when Thundercracker was on the line....’  
  
‘It’s still in the middle of refueling, sir.’  
  
‘I figured as much. Do we not have any functioning warships at present?’  
  
‘We had them all decommissioned for the reconstruction process.’  
  
Bludgeon dragged a boney servo across his face. ‘Not once did I bother to suspect anyone getting past my railguns… serves me right. Activate the city’s defenses!’  
  
‘They  _are_  activated,’ Wingspan said before communicating a vid-link to the weapons-platforms. On the screen was a row of turrets manned by several of Krok and Cannonball’s Decepticons-- with a few of Gutcruncher’s littered here and there.  
  
Crankcase was manning the one they had contacted. Wingspan loathed Crankcase. He always complained about how boring being a data-collector was back when they still worked together, only to complain even more about missing his desk-job after his promotion to Dread Commander. Nothing was ever going to make that mech happy. If Wingspan was in charge, he would have placed Crankcase in the worst remedial duties he could think of. He’d complain all the same. If anything, at least his colour contrast was appealing to the optics, though Wingspan began to worry that even colours could be ruined by association with Crankcase.  
  
Crankcase’s face tilted to the side as he reported into his communicube. ‘For the last fragging time Wingspan, you can’t make me shoot what I can’t—Oh hey boss.’  
  
‘Crankcase,’ Bludgeon spoke to the short, blue and yellow Decepticon. ‘What is the problem?’  
  
‘The guns’  _damn_  lock-on function isn’t working! I can’t shoot a  _damn_  thing if the blaster can’t find any  _damn_  thing to shoot!’  
  
‘Can you see the Ark through the scope?’  
  
Crankcase tested it. ‘Almost.’  
  
‘And can you pull the trigger?’  
  
‘Well, yeah.’  
  
Bludgeon slammed his fists against the console. ‘Then order Crowbar and Finback to open fire and defend this city!’  
  
‘But—‘  
  
He punched a button against the monitor and the feed was cut. He whipped his head back to face Wingspan. ‘Continue monitoring its trajectory and see if you can predict where it’s going to land. Until then we have no choice but to pray Tornado succeeds.’  
  
‘Agreed,’ for a split second, Wingspan turned to look at his leader, surprised to see he was serious about praying for the battle’s outcome.  
  
 _Weirdo._  
  
\-----  
  
That was the Ark. Thundercracker recognized it all too well. The burns he himself had inflicted back on Talon were still present on its golden gleam. There was something funny about how close he was to commanding the entire air-force on Bludgeon’s behalf. Thundercracker has, and was always going to be the background generic. To this day he was certain that the annals would tell of Starscream, Obsidian, and Strika as the three who hunted Optimus to the death. Thundercracker wouldn’t even appear on the cover. It might have bothered him before, but as long as he knew his own accomplishments, he was satisfied.  
  
Before he could question what he wanted his accomplishments to be, Brimstone zoomed past him. He should have been the leader, considering he was the Lieutenant Commander of Cannonball’s forces while Tornado came a measly third— but they all knew Tornado was the real leader here. After Macabre was killed, Tornado’s position spring boarded to General of Squadron X, making him one of the highest ranked Decepticons in the entire army. As a general of the likes of Gutcruncher and Clench, Tornado would have been deemed even higher than Starscream of all people. For whatever reason, the General found swapping commands in a shuttle boring, and chose the pirate life. When he joined Bludgeon’s pirates, Bludgeon was left with no choice but to either demote his first mates: Cannonball and Brimstone, or demote one of the deadliest Wrecker-killers in the galaxy. So to make everyone happy, he promoted Cannonball and Brimstone to Generals as well. Sly dog.  
  
Tornado plowed forward, jetting at full speed towards the Autobot shuttle. Thundercracker almost admired the ferocity of which Tornado flew, but he had already guessed that would soon turn to disgust when the mindless slaughter came about. He saw the necessity of scaring the enemy into submission, but that was as far as he would ever take it. Brimstone was surprisingly fast for a bird. The parrot-like Decepticon soared with tremendous agility, squawking all along the way. He had apparently come to the conclusion that he was in charge, and proudly accepted his role. Thundercracker came up right behind them, soaring respectfully in the center of the formation. Roadgrabber flew further behind, and after him: Bugly. He knew Bugly transformed into something between a helicopter and a jet fighter, but in his time flying alongside Obsidian, he knew that being a helicopter didn’t automatically make them as slow as one. That said, Bugly was incredibly slow. The large lumbering mystic grumbled from the back as he put on his max speed. Thundercracker was confident Wingspan could have flown faster than the aged mystic. The image was genuinely laughable, Skywarp would have had a field day with him.  
  
Spinister was left behind via Bugly’s suggestion. He was to hover in place and shoot at the Ark from afar with his long-ranged weaponry. It was a good, strategic decision on Bugly’s part; it gave them some cover-fire, some extra backup, and ensured the air-force would still have some muscle left should they all have been incinerated in the moment. Apparently Spinister was also as idiotic as Slipstream and was kept behind so he wouldn’t screw anything up, though to Thundercracker he just seemed monosyllabic and loyal—both of which were characteristics typically associated with the likes of Brawl and Dreadwing. Still, Thundercracker hated Bugly’s type, and he hated the fact that someone he hated turned out to be competent. He was like Starscream if Starscream had his “douche” setting turned to maximum.  
  
As they approached, Thundercracker thought it best to transmit his thoughts to Tornado over Brimstone. ‘Tornado. Arks are built to withstand entire enemy assaults. As such, its weapons systems will maintain a defensive strategy by homing in on our attacks before homing in on us. I recommend we focus our fire on its gun-emplacements individually before firing at its undercarriage. That should start a radiation leak and force them into landing outside of the city’s g--’  
  
It was Bugly who responded as sourly as ever. ‘We know how Arks work, grunt. Now keep your mouth shut. Tornado, the fastest way to eliminate the target is to destroy the main thrusters. Firing a concentrated shot into one of the turbines will destroy the engine and cause it to smoke, thus making where it lands all the easier for us to locate should they escape us. I recommend we send Thundercracker and the others to destroy the engines while you and I provide a suitable distraction for the gun emplacements.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Tornado agreed with Bugly’s plan. While he let out little more than a grunt, Thundercracker thought his voice sounded something similar to Starscream’s.  
  
As soon as they were in range, so was the city’s weaponry. Beams bolted from the ground, but with no targeting computer, they drifted around the Ark as it glided and rolled around the pillars of light with ease. Brimstone charged forward, only for the first beam from the Ark’s cannons to shoot through his wings and fry him on the spot. With a loud squawk, Brimstone went spiralling down in flames.  _He better have lived,_  Thundercracker thought, because he doubted Cannonball would be happy knowing his pet bird became fried chicken.  
  
The plan enacted as it should have. Tornado rushed the ship, getting in close and violently firing the largest barrage he had available before cool down. Thundercracker would say he was suicidal, but this was something else. At first glance Tornado seemed to be carrying out a purely offensive assault with no care towards defensive or evasive tactics, and that much was true, but on closer inspection, Thundercracker realized that all of Tornado’s movements, flight paths, and even reload times were calculated for maximum possible damage while still staying airborne. There was no doubt in Thundercracker’s mind why he was deemed a Decepticon General; according to Ferak, he had upgraded Tornado’s body time after time until he had evolved from a lame looking minicon to the dreadnaught of destruction he was today. Bugly dove and rolled as if he were preforming some elaborate and spiritual dance, his missiles dropped successfully, though it was evident he was showing off. Even Spinister’s infrared missiles had completed their journey, clashing with the Ark’s defensive missiles. They all caused excellent damage to the Ark’s frame and weaponry, and if the Ark was twenty time smaller, it would have already fallen. But the Ark was a big ship, and just three Decepticons couldn’t take it down. That’s where Thundercracker came in.  
  
‘C’mon!’ Roadgrabber snarled, leading them to the tail-end of the ship unnoticed. When the pair found themselves aligned with the blue vapor trails of the Ark’s caboose, Roadgrabber opened fire. Thundercracker followed his example, firing half his drone rockets into the Ark’s rear. Unfortunately, all of his and Roadgrabber’s firepower was quickly vaporized by the rear-thrusters’ burst.  
  
 _Bugly you idiot._  
  
Of course you couldn’t just shoot a missile down a rear-thruster and expect it to blow properly. The flames projecting from the thrusters’ rear would melt anything that went near it.  
  
‘What’s taking so long?!’ Bugly’s voice cawed over the comms.  
  
‘Our guns aren’t doing anything!’ Roadgrabber complained. He sounded largely disappointed. ‘And I was really looking forward to seeing one of the Autobots’ precious little Ark-classes get blown apart, too!’  
  
 _Ah yes, the simple things._  
  
‘Oh—here’s an idea!’ Bugly suggested. ‘Get.  _Closer!_ ’  
  
He had a point, the missiles were able to endure the heat for a few seconds before blowing outside the ship’s engine. Instead of calling Bugly once more, Roadgrabber dove further, getting in as close as he could to fire his payload before spinning back, growling. ‘The fireworks this mother makes better be the climax of my life if this is what I’m paying for it.’  
  
Thundercracker soon realized what he meant by that. Before he even entered the flames, the heat of the Ark’s engines burned him. Hard. He had to fire what he could quickly before swerving backwards for a second hit. He felt the toxic burns entering his pores and bubbling out his flesh. He had it much worse than the more battle-hardened Roadgrabber, and could feel his armour beginning to melt. At least he was still airborne.  
  
‘Finish the fragging job!’ Bugly howled over the speakers. ‘Before he realizes what you’re trying to do! Get in as close as you can and blow this hunker out of the sky! Considering the length of which these thrusters stretch—you need only plunge yourselves into the flames for a second or two to fire a shot capable of reaching the engine before it liquidates.’  
  
‘We can’t, sirs.’ Roadgrabber was flying circles around the Ark. The sun reflected bright white bars off of the ship’s hue that stung his optical nerves if he looked at it at a certain angle. ‘If we get any closer it’ll kill us!’  
  
That’s when Thundercracker realized.  _That was the point._  Bugly wasn’t so stupid that he’d assume they would be able to fly through a rear thruster without melting on the spot. He had every inclination for Thundercracker to die in the process of ripping the Ark out of the sky. His soldiers were mere pawns, and Thundercracker was a sacrifice.  _That evil bastard_ , Thundercracker mouthed.  
  
‘Exactly,’ the commanding voice came from Tornado. ‘As peons of the Decepticon Empire, you are fully expected to lay down your lives in the line of duty. If you don’t want me to shoot you down personally and rip out your brain modules for treason, then I would decide quickly if you value a pinch of meaning in your demise. Heroes or traitors. Choose!’  
  
Tornado’s voice was a General’s if Thundercracker ever heard one. Of course, he now knew why he thought his voice sounded like Starscream’s. Not because his voice was merely high, but because Tornado was—  
  
‘NOW!’ The General howled, continuing their deadly assault against the ship’s defensive fire.  
  
Roadgrabber seemed severely depressed, but shot forward all the same. Thundercracker flew alongside him, firing all he could into the main thrusters. They liquefied within the flames, but the closer they got, the longer the missiles survived their journey through the Ark’s systems.  
  
Thundercracker smirked as he felt his systems overloading next to the flames. Was Tornado going to kill him if he were to disobey? Definitely. Was he about to disobey?  _Definitely._  Thundercracker pulled up, missing the thrusters completely and flying metres above the Ark’s hull. ‘Then do it yourself!’ He had never exclaimed anything with more satisfaction.  
  
Bugly screamed curses and idioms of the most repugnant nature he was capable of without going against his core beliefs.  
  
Roadgrabber hesitated. Both in surprise, and in fear of the consequences. After a second of consideration, he followed the Seeker’s examples at the last second. ‘Yeah, really sorry guys, but nobody in their right mind would kill themselves over an Ark if they knew it meant they wouldn’t be there celebrate its ka-boom.’  
  
Tornado made a clicking noise with their teeth. ‘Disappointments. Both of you.’  
  
Roadgrabber and Thundercracker flew the Ark’s length, weapons reloading. While the Ark’s guns were busy defending against Tornado, Bugly, and Spinister’s assault, Roadgrabber aimed his pom-pom blasters and began his counter-attack. ‘Thundercracker, take out their firepower!’  
  
‘Already on it!’  
  
The pair strafed the Ark with what remained in their undercarriages. With no time to re-configure its defensive strategy in response to the new threats, the guns were blown to pieces one after another. By the time they reached the Ark’s bow, it had lost all offensive capabilities.  
  
‘We’re in for it now,’ Thundercracker mused.  
  
‘Nah, I’m sure the bosses will work something out.’  
  
‘The bosses?’  
  
‘You’re one of Starscream’s aren’t you?’ Roadgrabber chuckled. ‘I’m one of Gutcruncher’s guys. You and I—we’re on the same team!’  
  
Thundercracker had nearly forgotten that with the underground alliance Starscream had formed with Gutcruncher and Banzaitron, he now had allies in all shapes and places. ‘Then let’s hope Gutcruncher and Starscream are feeling especially clever today.’ The two advanced until they were out of the Ark’s range and retreating back to the Nemesis.  
  
Bugly was seething with rage. ‘You cowards just killed my plan! We could have won this minutes ago, but your lack of faith has doomed us from the start! I hope you are satisfied— because the minute we set down, Bludgeon is going to execute you like the idiotic, degenerate, wastes of space you—‘  
  
Inside, Optimus had apparently figured out what their plan was, as he had swerved the Ark into a spin, swinging the rear thrusters out of their way and rotating its hull horizontally until it faced in the opposite direction. As the Ark span, its bow had smashed itself into Bugly, sending limbs and kibble flying in all directions.  
  
\-----  
  
‘Eww,’ Blackarachnia gestured to the front view-screen as the still living Bugly lay quashed upon its glass. ‘Bugly on the windshield!’  
  
Optimus groaned and flicked a switch. A pair of large windshield-wipers ascended from the corner of the glass, dragging the crumpled and leaking Decepticon out of view, and off the side of the Ark.  
  
\-----  
  
As Roadgrabber and Thundercracker disappeared over the horizon, Tornado let out a furious roar, dropping bombs and missiles as it lengthened the Ark in seconds. They reduced the Ark’s armored sheen to blackened craters, peeled metal and melted paint, but still did little to decide the fate of the battle. ‘Okay then! I vowed to do whatever necessary to destroy this hauler, and that’s exactly what I’m about to do!’ Tornado reached the end of the thrusters, leveled himself with the Ark, and dove straight inside. _Some sort of final battle-cry would be suitable,_  Tornado thought. ‘Prepare to feel the touch of death, Autobots!’ The thrusters burned Tornado as bad as it did Roadgrabber, but the General carried on in spite of the pain; firing his payload into the shaft. Content with the success, Tornado watched as the missiles reached the engine—  
  
\-- Only for the Ark to disappear from sight. Tornado’s stray missile carried on, flying through the open sky with no destination in sight or mind. Tornado felt the effects of the Ark’s warp distort their already severely charred skin. ‘Dammit!’ Tornado croaked as systems gave way. In seconds, the General was plummeting head-first towards the ground. ‘Dammit…’  
  
\-----  
  
Optimus’ servos were shaking as they clutched the steering wheel for dear life. The ship was motionless. Ironhide and Blackarachnia stood alongside him, eyes bulging as they slowly turned their heads to face Prime’s direction.  
  
‘What just happened?’ Blackarachnia whispered.  
  
Optimus was too scared to answer. When he didn’t, Blackarachnia slowly walked over to the window, unsure of what she was about to see. Surrounding the Ark were tall crystal spires, crumbling, headless statues, and skyscrapers that looked as though they had been vacant for years. They had successfully landed on Theopany.  
  
‘We made planet-fall,’ Blackarachnia observed, ‘but how?’  
  
Optimus finally released the controls, allowing his arms to slacken finally. ‘When I realized they were about to blow our thrusters, I knew we had to get away; fast.’  
  
‘So we warped.’ Ironhide scanned the bridge, searching for evidence of internal damage. ‘But that’s impossible, we couldn’t have warped such a short distance—unless…‘  
  
Their eyes darted to Optimus. He looked between the two before answering. ‘It is possible to warp short distances. However in most cases a tunnel needs a longer distance to perform. It gives the ship a running start before warping to another sector of space, or in our case –since you can’t warp between atmospheres without the pressure building up— another area on-planet. It is possible to move short distances, it just takes more energy to exact a smaller tunnel, bend it 180 degrees, and activate a counter-tunnel to slow our warp-speed so we don’t end up in the center of the planet.’ He created a diagram with his servos. ‘Imagine taking a running start, but instead of running straight forward, you take it by running in circles while still in the same general vicinity. Then imagine if you had another runner collided head on with you after the fact, only instead of knocking both of you out, you both kept moving until the one with the running start, i.e.-us, manages to push the other back, continuing to advance albeit with the weight of the other runner hindering our progress. Then it stops, and we end up at the distance we managed to advance in the time it would have taken us to warp.’  
  
Blackarachnia massaged her chin. ‘Sounds complicated.’  
  
‘It is,’ Optimus nodded. ‘Which is why people don’t usually try it when they can simply fly the distance. They say that warping short distances is actually more dangerous and energy-draining than it is to warp long distances.’  
  
Silence.  
  
Noticing Prime’s panicked expression, Ironhide decided to speak. ‘Optimus, exactly how much energy did we use to warp this distance?’  
  
Optimus shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about it.’  
  
‘Optimus…’  
  
The Prime leader couldn’t hold it in, his body was making no visible effort to hide the fact that it was trembling.  
  
Ironhide’s massaged the bridge of his nose between his fore-finger and thumb. His optical lids tightened. ‘Oh Optimus…’  
  
‘We’re fine.’  
  
‘We don’t have any energy left to take off, do we?’  
  
But Optimus couldn’t muster a response.  
  
Blackarachnia folded her arms and leaned against the window. ‘We’re stranded, then. Just like when we were stranded back on that damn asteroid.’ She hated to bring it up. It was a time of death, mistakes and heartbreak. ‘Only this time there won’t be a Lost Light to pick us up.’ She squinted at Optimus. ‘Even if we do find this guy—assuming he’s not a Decepticon—what will it matter if we can’t get them off-planet?’  
  
Optimus shook his head. ‘I don’t know. What I do know is that I refuse to give up just yet. Let’s meet this Samaritan and work out how we’re going to escape from there. It’s the least we can do.’  
  
Blackarachnia and Ironhide had no further arguments, though Blackarachnia looked especially annoyed by the idea of doing more than necessary with no guaranteed pay-off. Optimus beckoned them, and the three marched out of the control deck and down the golden hallways. There were no lights to guide them, their only supplement being the light of the sun poking through nearby plexi-glass windows.  
  
‘Never seen the Ark this dark before,’ Blackarachnia whistled.  
  
‘The Ark is dead,’ Optimus lamented. ‘No fuel, no Energon left to power its generators—let’s just hope the Decepticons don’t find it. Wherever we are.’  
  
‘Should change the name of your ship to the D’Ark.’  
  
‘I don’t think so, Blackarachnia.’  
  
Making their exit, Prime had little doubt it would stay hidden forever, but it was concealed well enough. They were in a deeper crevice—a layer or two beneath the city’s crystalline surface. When Prime looked up, he could only make out small webs of blue sky concealed by the roadways and sky-scrapers stretched above. ‘Well, we’re not in full-view,’ Optimus observed, ‘so that’s a start.’  
  
Optimus draped his rifle over his shoulder and nodded to Ironhide and Blackarachnia. Ironhide carried a sub-machine gun in each hand with a pair of shoulder cannons folded and deactivated on his back. He wore a belt strapped with ammunition, ballistic knives and pistols. Blackarachnia held up her scrawny, black and yellow crossbow. She wore a frowny puppy-dog face as a means of letting them know just how disappointed she was by her lack of weaponry.  
  
Optimus was beginning to think it was a little overkill considering what their mission was. But then he figured he ought to listen to his sub-conscious to an extent. ‘We all know why we’re here. But make no mistake, this will not be easy. It’s a big city, Autobots.’ He transformed, his rifle compacting into subspace. ‘As far as I can tell, we have no ways of notifying them of our location without the Decepticons finding out as well. With that in mind, our best option at the moment is to travel along the lower roads for the off-chance we bump into them along the way.’  
  
‘Guess we ought to start searching now.’ Ironhide transformed into his bulky, cannon-toting truck-mode.  
  
‘It’ll only kill us faster,’ Blackarachnia grumbled as she hopped on top, crossing her legs and leaning her back against his combined turret. ‘Just please try to avoid any pot-holes.’  
  
‘No promises.’  
  
‘Alright then. Autobots,’ Prime’s engine revved as he began to accelerate throughout Crystal City’s lower levels. ‘Roll out!’


	44. Trial

                Thundercracker knew there would be consequences. Before he even had a chance to land, Krok was already on top him. His bright red eyes staring him down him like an officer would a shady couple. He and Roadgrabber were soon directed to the Citadel where they’d have to answer to the Decepticon leader himself. He knew Bludgeon wasn’t going to be pleased, but he did hold a small confidence that Starscream would be there to act as his safety net. Thundercracker and Roadgrabber were marched into Bludgeon’s abode. Roomy, but clearly one belonging to someone who found a great appeal in the occult. The other members of Bludgeon’s high command were there as well, though most of were still in the process of being reconstructed by Ferak. Tornado was there, surprisingly still alive. Black as soot with arms and legs twisted if not gone completely. The General’s faceplate and triangular visor were cracked and torched. From what form of expressiveness remained, they seemed far from pleased about the outcome of the battle. The invincible Bugly stood among them. Arms and legs barely reattached as the mystic stared Thundercracker down. He had to admit, Bugly was terrifying him. His gaze burned holes in his confidence. Cannonball and Krok took Bludgeon’s side as well, and Brimstone – somehow the least damaged – was flapping around the room, trying to escape Slipstream who was trying to gnaw on his wings. Gutcruncher and Banzaitron stood at opposite ends of the podium, acting as if they had never seen one another before. That left Strika, who was sitting cross-legged by the doorway, eating out of a bowl of Energon-Os. She seemed oddly calm, but Thundercracker had to assume it was because she was biding her time.

                Starscream and Obsidian were nowhere to be found.

                Bludgeon looked down from his podium, optics sizzling behind his mask. ‘I understand that I have been failed. Roadgrabber, would you please explain to me how this happened?’

                He already knew, of course, but formalities called to get it out of them before he exacted his already decided upon judgement.

                ‘Yeah,’ Roadgrabber, the higher ranked of the two rolled forward. Roadgrabber, to Thundercracker’s surprise, did not transform into his robot-mode so much as he morphed into a secondary vehicular form, this time into a bulky pincher-car of sorts. When Krok asked him about it initially, he revealed that he was born with an irrational preference to his alt-mode over his robot-mode. It apparently helped with his confidence. Thundercracker wished it was that easy for him. Roadgrabber spoke: ‘Bugly ordered us to kill ourselves while attacking the Ark, so we disobeyed.’

                ‘Why?’

                Roadgrabber would have frowned at him if he could. From the shift of his wheels, Thundercracker could tell there was a layer of disgust towards the Decepticon Leader’s inhumanity. ‘Cause we didn’t want to die.’

                Bludgeon rolled his optics. ‘Did he happen to mention _why_ or _how_ you were supposed to sacrifice yourselves for the Decepticon Empire?’

                ‘He told us to fire a missile down the Ark’s rear-shaft. It wouldn’t be effective unless we got a closer shot and dived into the flames. Hence, killed ourselves.’

                ‘We would have succeeded,’ Bugly growled. How he kept bouncing back, Thundercracker didn’t know, he just wished the next time the mystic got fragged, it would have been permanent. ‘If not for their cowardice that is.’

                The upper lip portion of Bludgeon’s mask raised. ‘So you disobeyed orders, abandoned your comrades in battle, and allowed our prized enemy to escape.’ He threw his skeletal servos over his head, dragging one over his forehead as he did so. ‘Either this is your first time participating as a gear in the great-Decepticon-war-machine, or you’re unfathomably stupid, because those are the only possible excuses you could have to incur this outcome. For your sake I hope it’s the former, because Primus _hates_ stupid people.’ He rose from his podium, stepping down until his shadow cast over the two rebel Decepticons. ‘Do you have anything left to say for yourselves? Because as of right now, you have about one minute left to live—maybe more; justice will _not_ be swift.’

                Thundercracker had never wanted to see Starscream more in his life. While Roadgrabber hadn’t any ideas, Thundercracker knew he couldn’t give up just yet. ‘Yes sir. We didn’t come here to die.’

                Bludgeon raised a brow. ‘Then I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…’

                ‘We came here to plead not-guilty.’

                At least one gasp echoed throughout the then-silent chamber.

                Bludgeon stared at the Seeker incredulously, his jawless maw looking like it was about to dribble venom. ‘“Not-guilty” This isn’t a court, Thundercracker, you disobeyed direct orders to lay down your lives. That warrant’s death, you know. Hell, it warrants a direct passage to the Pit!’

                ‘You are correct,’ Thundercracker somehow found it inside himself to keep his voice leveled and his emotions locked down. ‘We did disobey orders.’

                ‘Yes you did—‘

                ‘But we did not go against Decepticon law.’

                The Generals began murmuring to themselves, Bludgeon only frowned. ‘Your excuse vexs me. Explain.’

                ‘In the Decepticon manifesto, as well as the official critical guidelines to Decepti-Command Structure Co-ordination, soldiers of lower rank may go against a member of a higher authority if they believe them to be suffering from mental illness, or have fallen to incompetence. As Bugly thought it necessary to sacrifice a third of your aerial units to force the Ark into landing, I had come to the conclusion that Bugly was incompetent.’

                Bugly nearly screamed with rage. The mystic would have tackled Thundercracker to the ground and pop-off his head if not for the quick intervention of Bludgeon.

                ‘You don’t think your death would have resulted in success?’

                ‘No sir. Bugly’s plan was to sacrifice us in order to blow the Ark’s engine. Cutting the Ark off from its energy-source would have forced it to land, yes, as would it cause the ship to leave a smoke-trail for us to follow. But neither outcomes were worth killing anybody.’ Thundercracker suddenly felt himself shift into a laxer position. Starscream was rubbing off on him. ‘For starters, the Ark is no doubt here to secure its ‘serial-code’ problem and nothing else. A problem that we currently face as well what with the prisoner’s sudden escape following Bugly’s failure to guard it. As such, their plan was to land regardless of whether they were being attacked or not. To cause the Ark to smoke in order to predict its location would have made sense, but for whatever reason, Bugly had forgotten that we already had mechs like Wingspan calculating its trajectory, so the smoke was, frankly, an unneeded advantage. At the time, I suggested we focus on the disabling of the Ark’s weapons-systems, but that was quickly, expectedly, ignored. If Bugly’s plan came to fruition and its engine blew, then the Ark would have no doubt landed in the city with its weapons-systems still flaring. It would remain a destructive force within the very city we are trying to defend. When we realized this, Roadgrabber and I improvised from Bugly’s initial plan, and used our trajectory to remove the Ark’s weaponry. Thanks to us, the Ark now has no offensive capabilities. Had we accomplished this sooner, we could have carried out a full attack without having to worry about any defensive fire, nor any pointless loss of life.’

                ‘What makes you think it wouldn’t have warped regardless?’ Bugly snorted.

                ‘Nothing. I can’t tell you whether they’d have warped under different circumstances or not. But I believe their sudden warp was in direct response to Tornado’s attempt to blow the engines.’

                Tornado weakly bolted forward, nodding in solid agreement. ‘He’s right,’ the General croaked. ‘The bastards were gone as soon as they knew what I was trying to do.’ Of course Tornado would agree. The pirate had suffered the worst of the attack. But then Thundercracker was not expecting the General’s courtesy. Tornado had backed Bugly’s plan %100 when they were still in the air.

                Cannonball let out a surprised squeak. Some of the Generals were staring at wounded Decepticon in silence. Others remained un-phased.

                ‘What?’ Tornado coughed.

                Brimstone cleared his throat. ‘Nothing. It’s just—your voice. We didn’t expect you to be… well, female.’

                Tornado’s charred skull somehow managed to emote into a frown. ‘If something as trivial as that is too much for you to comprehend, Brimstone, then please—take all the time you need. Hell, I don’t know why any of this is still an incongruity when Strika is standing right over there!’ She pointed at the uncommonly built femme standing in the corner.

                Strika quickly snapped out of her day-dream and blinked, unsure of when she had become the center of attention.

                ‘Enough of this!’ Bludgeon crowed, then pointed a sharp digit at the blue Seeker in the center. ‘Thundercracker. Finish.’

                He nodded. ‘My plan involved a subtle radioactive leak to their undercarriage. Retreating from there, we should have surveyed its flight-path, and sent a second team to intercept its place of landing. The leak would have kept them busy before our second assault.’ He paused. ‘And that is all.’ It was a gargantuan stretch, Thundercracker knew, but he was willing to try whatever he could to save his hide. It would have been so much easier if Starscream had the decency to be there to bail him out.

                Bludgeon looked at him for a short while, before nodding. ‘Your decision making in the battle was fair, Thundercracker.’

                Bugly looked as if he were about to burst. Tornado, Krok, Gutcruncher, Banzaitron and Cannonball seemed indifferent. As did Strika. Thundercracker wasn’t sure what was on her mind, but whatever it was it was apparently more interesting than the Seeker’s apparent trial to execution.

                Bludgeon’s optics soon narrowed. ‘However, all you have convinced of me is to punish Bugly all the same.’

                Bugly squawked. He didn’t mean to execute him as well, did he?

                Thundercracker thought: _At least I get to drag Bugly down with me._ That was the only upside of the mess.

                Bludgeon continued. ‘How can I expect you to follow any of my orders should you up and decide you have a better plan than my own?’ He whipped his blade out from his waist. Thundercracker knew Bludgeon would see through his words, but the image terrified him all the same. He was not ready to die. ‘To make an example of your cowardice, I will—‘

                Thundercracker wouldn’t know what he was going to do, thankfully, not only because would be dead before he finished, but because of the new arrival. Starscream had burst into the room, striding in like a model on the catwalk. Arms swaying gracefully and grin parted wide. Obsidian hovered close behind, though it did not look like they were travelling as a pair. In fact it was as if Obsidian were hovering there from the start… was he really just that unnoticeable to the untrained eye?

                _Finally._ Thundercracker exhaled. He knew out of the three rebel leaders, Starscream was to arrive last in order to dissuade any association with Gutcruncher and Banzai, but this was a little too close for comfort in Thundercracker’s opinion.

                ‘My, I’ve been out of the loop for quite a while now haven’t I?’ He laughed.

                ‘Starscream,’ Bludgeon greeted him with a swift nod. ‘Your man has disobeyed my orders. I was just about to show him how we treat traitors around here.’

                Starscream tilted his head to the side as he studied Thundercracker’s predicament. ‘Well, that’s a shame.’ He jabbed a finger in Thundercracker’s direction. ‘You can do whatever the hell you like with the talking car, but this one’s mine.’

                Bludgeon shot him a look of bafflement. ‘So what?’

                Starscream hunched himself over, wringing his hands together like any model servant would. ‘So I would much rather carry out the deed myself—if you’d let me have him.’

                Bludgeon snarled. Then looked perplexed. Then snarled again. ‘He may have come from your guard, Starscream, but you are mine, and therefore he is mine as well. We are a combined force now, remember that.’

                _Or so he thinks._ Thundercracker mused.

                Starscream frowned at him. From the look in his optics, Thundercracker could tell Starscream had no brighter ideas to save him. The Aerospace Commander called out once more. ‘Would you please, master? You know how grateful I would be to show my worth to you just this once. Allow me to prove to you that I can carry out a deed such as this, and I will bless you like I would bless our God.’

                Bludgeon shook his head. ‘Starscream, I _know_ what you are capable of. You have no need to prove yourself to me.’ The words were meant to sound more supportive of Starscream’s confidence than they actually were.

                Starscream continued his act, then shot a gesture to Thundercracker that could be best read as: “Sorry fam, but it’s out of my hands.”

                _Thanks anyway, Starscream._

                But before Bludgeon’s sword could be raised, one more voice spoke up from behind Starscream. ‘I would still recommend further consideration, Lord Bludgeon, as Thundercracker’s words do bear value.’

                Obsidian. The slimy, snake-like strategist had hovered into view, though he did not stop there. He continued past Thundercracker, and towards Bludgeon.

                Bugly stepped forward. ‘You will remain at your—‘

                ‘Shut up, Bugly.’

                The strategist’s rash reply took even Bludgeon by surprise, though he didn’t appear to have any reservations to his conduct. ‘What are you suggesting, Obsidian?’

                ‘I’m suggesting that we are low enough on soldiers as is.’ He gestured to the room around them. ‘I was scanning the city for our perpetrator, as ordered. During my search, however, I became privy to the sort of Decepticons that make up your current army. The likes of Fulcrum and Misfire will not do the city justice, I’m afraid. Thundercracker and Roadgrabber may not be loyal to the point of self-sacrifice – which is crucial, I concur – but to execute the Lieutenant Colonel of the Seekers and one of the only Quadruple Changers in Decepticon history would indeed be a detrimental waste when we are in need of every available asset at our disposal.’ He hovered closer, bowed his head until it was centimetres to Bludgeon’s chest; then whispered so only the two of them would hear. _‘Don’t forget, we can always execute them after we are done with the Prime.’_

                Bludgeon understood plenty. He grimaced. ‘I need to make an example.’

                ‘We had this same conversation not long ago. As you made implicit before, I have a history with torture.’

                Bludgeon let out a sickly breath of hot air. ‘That should be suitable, yes.’ He gestured to Starscream and Gutcruncher respectfully. ‘Teach your men a lesson, we need all the arms we can if we want to vanquish this self-proclaimed “Prime”.’

                Starscream bowed. ‘As you command, Lord Bludgeon.’

                Gutcruncher added a swift nod of approval.

                Bludgeon’s voice boomed throughout the atrium. ‘You would all do good to know I will _not_ accept this kind of behaviour again. Let this serve as a warning, now back to your posts! There’s a chance Optimus has warped somewhere on this planet, and in the name of Primus, I will not rest until he is found and brought to justice!’

                When the matter was complete, the rest of the Generals let out a roar of “All hail” and flooded out of the room. Thundercracker felt himself trapped somewhere in the middle. Bugly moved past him, staring him down at him with ice-cold optics that made clear his contempt for the Seeker. Thundercracker eventually found himself walking back to the Nemesis with the others, wondering how the hell he was still alive. Strika passed him by without a second glance, retrieving a bag of Energon chips to snack on after having finished her cereal. Thundercracker had grown jealous of her apathy.

                Gutcruncher and Starscream walked side by side. Odd, since neither really cared for the other. But Gutcruncher was curious, even if it wouldn’t make him any noticeable profit in the near future.

                ‘You were really pushing for that Thunder-guy to live, huh?’

                ‘Well, Thundercracker _did_ end up living in the end, so I doubt my cute little act did any more than wound my pride.’

                Gutcruncher cocked a brow over. ‘What I mean is you almost seemed to care for the guy.’

                Starscream scoffed. ‘Hardly.’

                ‘That sort of stuff wasn’t very professional— at least in a business sense, it wasn’t,’ he muttered. ‘Sometimes you’ve gotta let people go. If you make emotional connections with your partners, then those connections will quickly thicken into steel. When that happens, they’ll drag you and whatever competence your business possesses down through the mud, and into oblivion.’ He let out a low chuckle, lighting his cy-gar in the process. ‘My colleagues call it “friendship”.’

                Starscream’s optics narrowed into daggered slits. ‘Starscream does not have many friends, Gutcruncher. It’s what’s kept me alive this long.’

                ‘I’m just letting you know…’ when they reached the road, Gutcruncher transformed; lumbering into his large tank-form. ‘If you want to sustain as many of your troops as you can, then fine. But don’t let it get to you. It’s not good business.’ He drove off back towards the Nemesis with the rest of his team.

                ‘What do you know, anyway?’ Starscream muttered. He stared at the sky, and frowned. _Optimus is on this planet._ He thought to himself. _I can smell him._

\-----

                ‘Dreary, isn’t it?’ Blackarachnia called from Ironhide’s cab. The Ex-Decepticon had her cross-bow aimed at the towering walls that passed them by. The Crystal City’s underworld stretched for miles. There was little chance they would find their targets, but Optimus ensured them it would only be a matter of time—even if that matter stretched to years.

                ‘It wasn’t always this way,’ Optimus replied. ‘This city used to serve as a citadel for religious and neutral practise. It was a haven for those trying to escape the war and had their reservations about the Vestial Imperium.’

                ‘I’m surprised I haven’t heard of it.’

                ‘You _were_ a con at the time,’ Ironhide murmured, then reconsidered. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound spiteful this time, honest.’

                Blackarachnia squinted down at the Autobots cockpit. ‘Sure you didn’t.’

                ‘It wasn’t perfect,’ Optimus had to admit. ‘And it wasn’t mandatory, but they usually pushed for their refugees to convert to Primalism. Outsiders were welcome, but they’d have to live with being outsiders until they either left, or converted.’

                ‘Sounds kind of crappy. You sure know a lot about this place,’ Blackarachnia hummed. ‘I take it you’ve been here before?’

                ‘No, but I once knew a guy who trained here a long time ago. Delta Magnus once had hundreds of Autobots go “neutral” so they could come study combat under the Circuit-Su and Metallikato masters like Yoketron and… that other guy.’

                ‘You mean Alpha Trion?’ Ironhide asked.

                ‘Yeah, sure, him. I’m sure the Decepticons did the same because folks like Bludgeon and Sixshot started springing up around the same time.’ He sighed. ‘Well, that’s all over now that the city’s in ruins. I guess sometimes you’ve just got to—Blackarachnia, what are you doing?’

                The spider had been casually shooting her crossbow adjacent from the road. ‘Shooting the buildings.’

                Optimus and Ironhide were silent. Her crossbow twanged as arrows dug deep in the abandoned building’s walls, sprouting out at random angles in no particular shape or pattern.

                ‘Why?’ Optimus finally asked. ‘Do you really have to wreck this city even more? I mean if you want to do some real damage you’ll probably need a nuke or two, but still...’

                Blackarachnia reloaded her crossbow. ‘You know how you said we didn’t have any way of notifying our guy where we are? Well I figured the best way of marking our tracks is to leave a trail of some kind. The patrols shouldn’t recognize a slight change in collateral damage in some nondescript area of their crumbling city, but for somebody who’s presumably trying to find ends meet down here...’

                ‘Then it should direct our guy right to us.’ His acceleration increased. ‘Good thinking Blackarachnia! We may just accomplish something after all!’

                Blackarachnia held her head up high as she fired her crossbow. ‘Ohohoho! You hear that, Ironhide? Blackarachnia is better than you now!’

                ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ the dark Autobot said before driving over a pothole.

                Blackarachnia let out an “oof” as she clenched onto the roof of Ironhide’s cab for support. She was beginning to dread not having a conventional alternate mode. ‘Prick.’

\-----

                The Nemesis was packed with all sorts of Decepticons, both friend and enemy to Thundercracker. It had reached the point where with the religious nature of the Citadel, the Nemesis became the more popular place of living on the planet. Krok roamed the halls, ordering several of his troops to spread out and search the area. Those who were either wounded, or had just returned from their shifts, were standing idle in the halls and its respective hab-suites.

                As a force of habit, Thundercracker found himself wondering into the med-bay. Since Starscream was no longer there, it wasn’t quite their room of operations anymore. Inside he found Tornado resting on a slab with Ferak looming over her. When he saw Thundercracker enter the room, he yelped, tried to say something casual and then dashed past the Seeker, leaving him alone with the General.

                ‘Er, sorry about the interruption,’ Thundercracker said, massaging the back of his neck. ‘I’m not sure if you know this, but the Nemesis is literally the hardest ship in the galaxy to navigate through.’

                ‘Cause of the wormholes?’ Tornado growled. ‘Yeah, I know. Ferak almost wheeled me into a mine-field just a minute ago.’

                With nothing better to do than brood, Thundercracker took a seat next to the berth. ‘I’ll be the first to admit, you took me by surprise.’

                ‘What, the whole “femme” thing?’ For the first time to Thundercracker’s knowledge, Tornado laughed. ‘It was a lot more obvious back when my name was “Windrazor”.’

                ‘What made you change it?’

                ‘Didn’t have a choice,’ she groaned. ‘Squadron X required you to come up with a new name for your new life. It’s better this way. I don’t get judged nearly as often.’

                Thundercracker nodded in understanding. ‘Makes sense, but that’s not what took me by surprise.’

                Tornado’s visor fixated on Thundercracker, scanning him up and down suspiciously. She had encountered plenty who claimed to find no difference between the thought-to-be-male and female Tornado, only to treat her differently from then on regardless. ‘Oh?’

                He nodded once more, the General’s judgemental glare awakened some residual nerves still buried in his flesh upon his meeting with Bludgeon. ‘You defended me.’

                She tilted her head back. ‘It didn’t do you any good. Obsidian was the one who really saved you.’

                ‘Then I’ll thank him later.’ He leaned forward, optics eyeing her with as much suspicion as she directed to him. ‘You were behind Bugly one-hundred percent when we were fighting the Ark, and yet you were the first to defend my actions.’

                She shrugged. ‘Let’s not make any assumptions here, I do not like you. In fact your cowardice sickens me. When millions of good Decepticons gladly sacrifice themselves for the greater good several times a day, seeing people like you standing before me alive and well makes me wish I had whatever strength left inside my being to drag you into the pit of Unicron and demand the Chaos Bringer himself how such a selfish coward could have possibly been ignored on his domain of death.’

                ‘I get that a lot.’

                ‘This isn’t a joke. You should have flown into that engine, Thundercracker. I did, and I would have gladly died for it had things turned out in our favor. Talk about could-haves and should-haves all you like, but there was no reason for you not to have sacrificed yourself the way any noble Decepticon would. No matter what, you are still one of the most pathetic excuses for a Decepticon I have ever had the displeasure of encountering.’

                ‘But?’

                Tornado grinned. ‘Who says there’s a “but”? Maybe I wanted you alive just so I could verbally abuse you for your inadequacy in person.’

                ‘Works for me.’ Thundercracker prepared to leave the room, when he was about to reach for the door-handle, Tornado laughed. She had her reason.

                ‘If you want, call it a thanks for saving my Conjunx.’

                That caught his attention. Thundercracker had no memory of saving anyone, let alone Tornado’s Conjunx Endura. He didn’t even know Tornado _had_ a Conjunx Endura. ‘Who?’

                ‘The one you exempted from the flight roster. Deep down I probably would have sacrificed him myself if the situation asked for it, but it was nice to hear he wasn’t coming along.’

                ‘What?’ Then Thundercracker remembered. ‘Ferak.’ He had been kicking himself for lying about Ferak’s schedule in order to side-line him out of spite. Not only was it a possible detriment to the outcome of the fight as well as prove everything Tornado said about him, but it also could have been Ferak sacrificing himself in that situation instead of Thundercracker, who was branded a rebel as a result. The Seeker wondered if Tornado knew about how he assaulted Ferak over what he had done to Skywarp, but then she didn’t seem like the type that would care much for that. It was a savagery on his part, but Tornado was used to Decepticon brutality. Their moral compasses were on opposite poles, and they were both aware of it.

                ‘Don’t think this means I won’t kill you once Starscream makes his move.’

                Thundercracker stopped and stared at her. She knew?

                ‘Don’t worry, as far as I know, I’m the only one who figures there’s a coup going on. Just know that when it does, I will be going after you first.’

                ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ Thundercracker answered with a friendly grin, ‘but good luck with that.’

                He opened the door only to bump into Strika. The Admiral scanned the medibay, noticed Tornado, and slapped herself on the head. ‘Oh, heh, sorry about that. I forgot we changed rooms so that people could actually use the medibay as a medibay. How embarrassing!’ She looked down at Thundercracker. ‘Same with you, eh?’

                ‘Yeah.’ Thundercracker shut the door behind him, catching a quick glimpse of Tornado’s gleaming visor before closing it all the way. He continued down the corridor alongside the towering Strika. ‘Hey, have you, uh… been alright?’

                Strika didn’t bother making eye-contact. It would have strained her neck anyway. ‘Yeah, why? What are you, _worried_ about me?’ She guffawed her usual loud guffaw.

                ‘You’ve been acting kind of lax lately,’ Thundercracker explained, numbering off the examples on his fingers. ‘The snacks, the sleeping— you just seem uncharacteristically out of it and it’s kind of freaking me out.’

                Strika shrugged. ‘I’m just conserving my strength.’

                ‘For what?’

                She turned to him, winked, and then jogged down the hallway ahead of him; passing a corner out of sight.

                _What the hell did that mean?_ Thundercracker cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered at her. ‘What the hell does that _mean?!_ ’

                Whatever. He continued his search for an available room only to find Roadgrabber sitting in the middle of the hall. The purple quadruple changer was sitting cross-legged and tinkering with something between his fingers. He beamed as he saw Thundercracker approaching him and waggled an odd, metallic object.

                ‘What’s up?’ Thundercracker asked.

                ‘Heh, check it, I scavenged some of Bugly’s parts from when he got hit. This here is his thumb.’

                Thundercracker grimaced. ‘You’re carrying around Bugly’s severed thumb?’

                Roadgrabber only then seemed to realize how odd that sounded. ‘Among other digits, yes.’ He splayed out his collection of Bugly parts. ‘You know what’s really funny? The fact that he’s still out there looking for them. His phoney religion inhibits him from using spare parts so he’s stuck crawling around the battlefield searching for his lost thumb.’

                Thundercracker had to chuckle at the idea, though it took him a moment to realize Roadgrabber was serious. ‘So Obsidian said you were a Quadruple changer?’ He asked, shifting the topic at hand. ‘Never knew you guys existed until now.’

                ‘Yeah, for some reason everyone only pays attention to trips like Blitzwing and the esteemed Sixshot and Quickswitch, yet somehow they never consider that there might be folks who can have a number of modes between three and six.’

                ‘That _is_ kind of weird, isn’t it?’ Thundercracker watched as Roadgrabber bent the joints to Bugly’s ring finger backwards and giggled as it made a light crunch. Roadgrabber was starting to freak Thundercracker out.

                ‘I still wish we could’ve seen that Ark get blown,’ Roadgrabber mused. ‘I was held prisoner in one once upon a time, y’see. Now I just can’t stand the damn things. You know those ships have swimming pools in ‘em? If there’s one type of ship I’d like to see go boom, it’s a fragging Ark.’ Cracking open Bugly’s ring finger, Roadgrabber winced, then looked back up at Thundercracker. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?’

                ‘Do I look like the kind of guy who would care less about Bugly’s body-parts?’

                Roadgrabber gasped. ‘Thank God, the last thing I need is that dipstick zealot coming down on me again.’ He erupted with laughter as another tendon broke.

                Having had enough, Thundercracker turned to leave. ‘I… uh, have something important to get back to.’

                Roadgrabber waved him off, but seemed disappointed that his new friend wasn’t as interested in his hobby as he was.

                Roadgrabber was not Thundercracker’s preferred company in the least. Unfortunate considering their momentary comradery, but Thundercracker thought he liked Tornado better. At least her violent upbringing came from her loyalty to the cause. Roadgrabber was evidently another one of the many sadists that peppered the Decepticons’ ranks. At least he didn’t seem stupid, Thundercracker figured.

                He found Obsidian hovering in the middle of the corridor, evidently looking for someone. He spotted Thundercracker, but did not seem relieved. He hovered over in greeting. ‘Thundercracker, have you seen Strika anywhere?’

                ‘I saw her just a moment ago— said something about conserving energy.’

                Obsidian hummed. ‘I see.’

                ‘Did something happen?’ He was sure not to ask anything too personal. Hell, he didn’t know how far Obsidian and Strika’s relationship went, nor did he particularly care to know.

                Obsidian shook his head, stifling a laugh. ‘No. She does this whenever we're forced into long periods of idleness between battles. I just wanted to be sure.’

                ‘Is that bad news?’

                ‘On the contrary!’ Obsidian turned his head aside, signalling that he had better things to get to.

                ‘Hey uh… before you go, there’s something I need to tell you.’ He scanned the area, concluded they were safe from any trained ears, and whispered into the strategist’s audio receptor. ‘ _Tornado knows.’_

 _‘The coup.’_ Obsidian’s green, snake-like optics narrowed. ‘That’s not good, Thundercracker. That’s not good at all.’

                He led the strategist into a vacant room, supposedly built for a mini-con as it was only cramped enough to accommodate the two of them and not much else. ‘I know, but what can we do? Tornado told me she wouldn’t get involved with what we’re trying to accomplish or even tell Bludgeon about it, but...’

                ‘Then she’s an ally?’ But Obsidian didn’t sound confident. If anything it sounded like he was asking just so Thundercracker could answer with what they both already knew.

                ‘I don’t think so, no. She wants the uprising to occur, but she made it clear she wasn’t going to take our side when it does.’

                Obsidian’s reared his ugly head. ‘It’s hard for me to take what she says at face-value. Did she give any hints as to why she would withhold this information to Bludgeon?’

                ‘So she could kill us herself, I imagine. Tell Bludgeon and he’ll have someone like Roadgrabber carry out executions. Let it unravel and she can kill us all herself.’

                ‘I would expect something a little more elaborate on Tornado’s part.’

                ‘You think she’s trying to form a third faction?’

                He waved away the notion with a swish of his hand. ‘That would only make her more enemies than friends. For now we have no choice but to accept her words as a warning and nothing more.’

                ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ Thundercracker felt sick asking. Enemy or no, he was not happy with the possibility of having to kill another Decepticon.

                ‘It’s not like we can just kill her.’ It was as if Obsidian was reading his mind. ‘She’s not hurt enough to suddenly “die of her wounds”, and it would be too convenient to for an “accident” to occur. If she died on her berth today then Bludgeon’s suspicions would be confirmed.’ He began numbering the outcomes out-loud. ‘Then we’d have to worry about an investigation, private interrogations and—well, even you can see how that would be a problem.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll see if I can get Banzaitron to loan me some of his intelligence agents to spy on Tornado. Until then, get Slipstream to watch over her—they won’t expect someone like her to have any layered motives. Oh, and remind her to go through Tornado’s belongings. It will no doubt annoy our friendly general, but we need to know if she’s any proof that the alliance exists.’

                Thundercracker nodded. ‘Understood, I’ll get on that as soon as I find her.’

                ‘Good,’ of course, it was Obsidian who took his leave first, sliding open the door and hovering outside.

                Thundercracker stopped him mid-way. ‘Hey, one last thing.’

                He looked over his shoulder at the Seeker. ‘What is it?’

                ‘Thanks.’

                It took Obsidian a moment to remember what he had to thank him for, then let out an uninterested hum. ‘We are short on living bodies, Thundercracker. Of course I’m going to save yours if my abilities prove capable.’ He turned to leave, then stopped himself, adding: ‘If you really want to thank me, call us even for my previous outburst.’

                Thundercracker wasn’t sure whether Obsidian was talking about his tantrum over losing at cards, or his attempt to murder Thundercracker for invading his privacy, but that wouldn’t matter before long. Obsidian had already disappeared down and around a corner of the ship’s hallways.

                Of course, Thundercracker had different orders. Starscream had tasked Thundercracker with spying on Obsidian in order to find out what it was he got up to in his time alone. Things got in the way, of course. Managing an alliance, working out Skywarp’s condition, and being ordered to shoot down the Ark prevented him from carrying out his orders. Of course, Starscream had greater concerns, so he was a little more forgiving over the matter than he would have been under normal circumstances.

                Since Obsidian had no footsteps (or feet for that matter), Thundercracker had to walk a distance behind so his own could not be heard. He still wasn’t sure how good the much older strategist’s hearing was after all this time. Surely his age interfered with that to an extent. He followed Obsidian down the winding corridors, avoiding any rooms that might have led into a stray wormhole. Peeking around a corner, Thundercracker felt a hand grab him by the shoulder.

                ‘I’ve got you,’ a voice rasped.

                Thundercracker whirled his head around in terror, then exhaled. ‘Slipstream you idiot!’

                ‘Thundercracker was scared!’ The former Aerospace Commander beamed, her cat-like eyes widening as she did. ‘You were scared of me because I’m prettier than you.’

                Thundercracker was quick to silent the Seeker. ‘Shut up, tool! I am _this_ close to finding out what Obsidian’s plans are and I can’t afford to let you muck it up!’

                ‘Plans?’ Slipstream let out a gasp. ‘Obsidian has plans with another woman! No dignity! Strika will be heartbroken!’

                ‘He’ll break _our_ hearts. Literally, if he finds out we’ve been following—‘

                An unfamiliar voice croaked from down the hall. ‘I’m glad you’re here. We never did get the chance to talk.’

                ‘Yeah,’ Obsidian replied. ‘What have you found?’

                ‘Stratatonic reported there to be no detectable warp energies in the upper atmosphere. From the Ark’s elevation below the planet’s atmosphere, Optimus no doubt warped to another area on the planet.’

                ‘The energy discharge must have been colossal. If that’s the case then there’s a good chance he’s stranded within the city’s walls.’

                ‘Easy picking, you could say. I instructed the others to inform me directly if they came across a whiff of Prime’s scent. I can’t say the same for any of Krok or Cannonball’s men, but other than Wingspan, Pounce and Tornado, none of them bare any excellent talent. How is Starscream’s situation holding up?’

                ‘He’s still biding for the perfect time to strike. Perhaps once Bludgeon is lured out of his citadel, he, Gutcruncher and Banzaitron will make their move.’

                ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

                ‘On the contrary, it serves as a suitable distraction from our own machinations—but we’ll need to find Prime as soon as possible. That way when they’re busy squabbling over who gets the right to kill who, we’ll escape undetected with Optimus in tow. Once that’s accomplished, it will be only a matter of time before the _real_ Leader of the Decepticons comes to pow—‘

                A siren wailed throughout the Nemesis. Overhead lights stained the walls with whites and reds as they seizure between flashes.

                Thundercracker grabbed Slipstream by the shoulder and transformed, blasting down the halls and away from Obsidian and his co-hart. Slipstream followed, transforming and flying awkwardly down the tight corridor, bumping into the surrounding walls along the way.

                Luckily, the siren’s wails masked the sound of their thrusters, though Obsidian could smell the sting of their vapor trails. This, however, was the least of Obsidian’s concerns, as he had remembered what the sirens were meant to convey.

                ‘We found him,’ Obsidian murmured. ‘Dammit.’

                He and his accomplice transformed into their vehicular forms and raced the corridor before reaching the more densely populated sector of the ship. ‘If Prime’s been located then it wasn’t one of mine,’ said the smaller robot.

                ‘I can see that,’ Obsidian spat. ‘If we don’t get a move on, they’ll kill Optimus and name Bludgeon leader of the Decepticons.’ He swerved to avoid the scrambling Decepticons, gathering blasters and bayonets for their coming rematch with the Prime and his forces, ‘and we cannot, under any circumstances, allow that to happen.’

               


	45. A Voided Mind

                Fulcrum wasn’t what you’d call a go-getter. The K-classer wished he had a chair, because standing around for hours surveying the same landscape was becoming very repetitive, and mentally exhausting. On one hand it meant he wouldn’t have to work in construction; which he was never good at in the first place, on the other, the city’s view did little but remind him of his future work-load. And when that came to mind, his optics would strain. At this point he wanted the spacefarer’s war to end not for the sake of his new boss – who’s gross form was all sorts of disturbing to look at – but for more Decepticons to arrive and take over his construction duties. _Dream on,_ Fulcrum told himself, _dream on._

                He was wandering across one of the mega-highways on The Crystal City’s surface with Spinister and Misfire, the latter of which had been experimenting with high-grade nucleon since they took off. Fulcrum worried his lack of a flight-mode would frustrate his companions, but were content to walk with him. Misfire was too busy getting wasted while Spinister, who had no reason not to hover in helicopter mode above them, just didn’t seem to care. Fulcrum couldn’t blame him. None of them expected to find anything bigger than a Z’verein Mole Rat in their area of the city. Still, Krok had to keep up with appearances—he had to at least make it _look_ like they were being helpful, and when not dismantling ships (save for The Nemesis and the Tidal Wave, who were powered by living sparks) to use them as construction material, searching for Prime or their prisoner was his best bet. Of course, they’d never _find_ them. What were the odds of them running into Optimus Prime in some dingy-corner of the city?

                Misfire shoved another cube in his mouth. ‘Yeah, we should head back soon, I’m running kinda low on cubes.’ He pouted. ‘No thanks to Spinny over here.’

                It wasn’t necessarily Spinister’s fault. The brooding helicopter only refused to carry any more of Misfire’s “stash” with him. He just wouldn’t answer him when asked to do the favor.

                ‘Maybe we’d be more willing to help if you didn’t mix your high-grade from the Citadel’s restricted Energon reservoir.’

                Misfire quickly jabbed his index finger towards the sky above. ‘Preposterous!’

                ‘Seriously,’ Fulcrum persisted. ‘All Krok’s been talking about is how pissed Bludgeon’s been about his “disappearing” Energon—among other things. You’re telling me that stash of yours isn’t the same Energon that just so conveniently went missing when you first started hauling your load?’

                ‘Yes.’ Misfire’s nose crinkled, he seemed personally offended by the allegation. ‘No really – don’t give me that look – I’ve been saving this stuff up for years! It’s called a “secret” stash for a reason!’

                Fulcrum crossed his arms. ‘Mhm, then what’s the occasion? Why break it out now?’

                Misfire shouted: ‘Because we didn’t have fragging Bludgeon to worry about!’ He stomped his foot against a ledge, causing a few of his cubes to slip out from his grasp. ‘I mean geez! Who wouldn’t turn to drugs working under the guy?!’

                Fulcrum had to agree with Misfire. Bludgeon made _Flywheels_ look mentally sound, and he was off working in the dead city of Kalis to ward off the undead with passages of the Pentateuch. Fulcrum himself had personally despised Bludgeon’s principles of personal sacrifice, as with his obsession over gritty subjects like death and suffering. He began to suspect that if it wasn’t the Leader’s sadistic examples, Bludgeon’s obsessions were all for the sake of appearances. Despite what he had heard of Thundercracker being some Autobot apologist or closet hippy, he did find himself secretly rooting for the guy when he defended his survival to Bludgeon’s face… skull… whatever.

                ‘Alright,’ Fulcrum said calmly. ‘You’re right—eat drink and be merry. Just don’t come crying to me when Bludgeon executes you for stealing what’s not yours. You know that could actually nip us in the bud in case we actually need the stuff. For, y’know, Nemesis and city powering purposes.’

                ‘I told you I didn’t—!’ But Misfire caught himself short as he realized he was eating his last cube of high-grade. He turned around and spotted the cubes he had dropped. He pointed a digit towards them. ‘Yo, Spinister, would you be a doll and pick those up for me?’

                Obediently, the lumbering shadow walked over and began picking them up one-by-one. He stopped.

                Misfire made a beeline back towards Spinister, shaking his head as if he knew the idiot would be too stupid to comprehend doing the simple chore. ‘Come on, come on! Ten second rule! Times-a-ticking here!’

                ‘I found them,’ Spinister said dully.

                Misfire forced a grin as he picked up the remaining cube. ‘Yes, you _did_ find them. I was just pointing at them nine-point-nine seconds ago. Geez, dude, you’re really a piece of work, you know that?’

                ‘No.’ Spinster grabbed Misfire by his head and wrenched it over to his own. He was directing the Targetmaster’s field of vision to something below. ‘ _Look.’_

                Fulcrum jogged up next to them to see what Spinister was talking about. Though he was already finding his suspicions, it was more than likely Spinister was mistaken, but the look on Misfire’s face told volumes. They were peering down a fissure in the city’s layer. Below, two trucks, one red and blue, the other black and red, drove along a lower and abandoned highway. On top of the black one was a bestial Cybertronian. The one Fulcrum would assume to be “Blackarachnia.”’

                ‘Oh crikey.’ Fulcrum punched Spinister in the shoulder, then whipped his communicator from his belt to his audio receptor. ‘I’m phoning this in to Krok.’ As his call went through, he watched as Misfire and Spinister stared at each-other blankly. ‘Well, what are you two waiting for? Shouldn’t you be chasing after them? You guys can actually fly!’

                Spinister nodded, ‘Right,’ before transforming into his helicopter form and diving over the side to chase after them. Fulcrum felt kind of bad for the guy. It was one thing after the other with him, first the Ark, now a rematch not five minutes after recuperating. Neither of them expected to enter battle again so soon.

                Misfire waved his hands in front of Fulcrum’s face. ‘Noooo way, man! I am _not_ going down there! That’s the guy that killed Megatron, man, _Megatron!_ ’

                ‘Whatever!’ Fulcrum had lost his patience with the Targetmaster. ‘If you want to help then call Crankcase—tell him to get over to our position immediately for assistance.’ He grimaced. ‘He’s going to love this…’

\-----

That’s when the sirens started blaring.

                Every Decepticon in the Nemesis that wasn’t either wounded or surgically merged into the ship transformed and raced down its exit ramp in one big Decepticon stampede. Thundercracker and Slipstream were among the first, if only because the former needed an excuse as to why he was racing out so fast. Bloodlust seemed believable enough to those who did not know him well. Roadgrabber, despite his wounds, followed them. He was content not to miss anything important. Cannonball broke off from the group to pursue his ship. Unfortunately, since Ferak was busy mingling with his Conjunx, it was in no better repair than it was when he last saw it. Before the captain could return to the group, nearly everyone had already left without him.

                Bludgeon took the lead. It did not take long for two groups to organize. Bludgeon led the ground-force consisting of Gutcruncher, Strika, Banzaitron, Axer, Treadshot, Finback, Thundertron, Pounce, Charger, and Take-Off, while Krok led an air-force of Starscream, Obsidian, Wingspan, Roadgrabber, Thundercracker, Ferak, and Slipstream. Everyone else was either recuperating, or in the instances of Stratatonic and Razor-sharp, manning the not-so automatic railguns in orbit—now knowledgeable that they _needed_ to be manned if they wanted to target Prime and his minions.

                Bludgeon thought it unfortunate that he wouldn’t get to use his trump-card – where his trump-card decided to sod off to, he did not know – but he couldn’t complain. While he was confident, he was necessarily cautious. While Prime’s Autopedia entry had very little to go with it, it only made things worse for Bludgeon. Whatever Optimus was had kept him on his toes. There were millions of supernatural entities that Bludgeon was aware of that could take the form of a Cybertronian, and plenty that he knew could kill Megatron. The rallied Decepticons drove and flew towards Fulcrum’s position, weapons blazing in anticipation. Bludgeon in particular was looking forward to extinguishing the devil that laid before him.

\-----

                Crankcase, however, was only a few blocks away from Fulcrum’s position, accompanied by his dreads. The three stood in robot mode as Crankcase gave his commands. Their names were Crowbar and Hatchet, not that anyone could really tell for sure. They were nothing more than snarling, degenerate beasts. A notch below Ravage on the scale of Cybertronian autonomy. Misfire took great pleasure in dubbin them ‘The Freak’ and ‘The Geek’, and while the names were degrading, the Dreads didn’t seem to mind. The Scavengers found them as the sole survivors of a saboteur run on an Autobot outpost and promptly took them in. Crowbar was a tall, dark, figure with wires hanging from the back of his head, while Hatchet was a four-legged beast that would and could eat everything. Being the only one who admired their violent characteristics, Crankcase claimed them as his own. Considering how highly the two were rated in the Decepticon hierarchy, Crankcase’s role as caretaker bumped him up the chain of command a notch and made him second in command of Krok’s team—which actually places him at around eleventh when considering Bludgeon’s army as a whole, but that bothered him only as much as everything else did.

                ‘Alright boys.’ He addressed his comrades in a gruff militaristic voice he once heard Krok use when he was upset. ‘We’re the closest to the Prime—which means we’ve got to get off our afts and do something about it.’ He didn’t have much else to say. He was a data collector, dammit, not a leader. ‘So whatever, let’s go.’

                Crankcase transformed into his four-wheeled off-road vehicle, while Crowbar and Hatchet transformed into their car and jet modes respectively. Following Misfire’s vague directions, the three found themselves staring at the rear-fenders of the ones called Optimus and Ironhide. Hatchet joined Spinister and fired upon them from above while Crowbar and Crankcase increased their acceleration. Unfortunately, Crankcase was painfully slow. Fortunately, so were Optimus and Ironhide. Hatchet and Spinister did circles around them as they dropped their payloads, while Crankcase activated his stealth-force weaponry from behind. ‘Come on, Crowbar, do something—‘

                Crowbar transformed. In robot mode, he was one of the fastest sprinters Crankcase had ever seen.

                ‘--useful.’

                Crowbar kicked the ground and sprung forward, easily over taking Ironhide and obtaining a clear shot at the group.

                Ironhide was busy focusing his fire on Spinister, and losing the ground forces chasing him was becoming difficult.

                Crowbar’s wrist-mounted submachine-guns flared, riddling Ironhide with bullet-holes and warps in his armour. Ironhide had stomached worse.

                They had the trio surrounded. Spinister and Hatchet above them, Crankcase in his stealth-force mode behind them, and Crowbar firing at them at close-range.

                ‘I knew this would happen!’ Blackarachnia growled as she unloaded what remained from her crossbow. Unfortunately for her, the bolts merely ricocheted off Crowbar’s chest-plate. Crossbows weren’t particularly useful unless they had explosive attachments, and Blackarachnia’s did not.

                ‘Damn useless—.’ Blackarachnia chucked what remained of her crossbow at Crowbar. The weapon bounced off the sprinter’s head, sending him recoiling back. Somehow the weapon itself was more effective than its fire-power.

                Empty-handed, Blackarachnia turned to Optimus. ‘Orders?’

                ‘I’m coming up with… something.’ He managed, dodging the incoming missiles in his vehicle form. ‘We need to escape them somehow.’

                ‘How?’

                ‘That’s what I’m trying to work out!’

                A stray blast ruptured Prime’s rear-wheel. It would heal, but it was enough. Optimus transformed mid-air, rolling against the metal ground and picking up sparks. Fully-formed, he activated his rifle; the long shaft extending from his hand, and the attachments unfolding into place. Spinning through the air into a 180, Prime fired a large beam of light at Hatchet before completing his spin and transforming back into his truck-mode. The beam missed, but it was enough to make Hatchet worry. The jet transformed into beast-mode, and joined Crowbar in their pursuit.

Hatchet ran on four legs, snarling and barking like a rabid dog as he chased after them.

                Blackarachnia clamped her claws around Blackarachnia’s rims, there was nothing she could do, and that frustrated her. ‘Could you speed that process up a notch? I’m not all that fond of dying at the moment—‘

                Hatchet swung a claw at Blackarachnia, slashing her wrist and causing Energon to flow. From behind, Crowbar fired upon Ironhide’s rear, prompting the weapons-specialist to direct his cannon-fire from Spinister to the Dread. Firing a single-blot blew apart the Decepticon’s chest and knocked him down. He would catch up soon enough. With no-one covering Spinister, the helicopter swooped down and fired upon Ironhide, missiles blowing apart his rear. Blackarachnia and Ironhide cursed in unison.

                Having had enough, Blackarachnia activated her legs. The stalks unfurled into sword-like appendages as she gained her balance standing up. ‘Oh forget it.’ She leaped off of Ironhide and landed on Hatchet, her arms wrapping around the beasts throat and securing her position. Her stalks stabbed rapidly and violently into the beast’s upper body-shell, causing him to roar as they pierced through important arteries. ‘DIE AUTOBOTS, DIE!’ Blackarachnia screamed, then turned to Optimus and Ironhide, while their faces weren’t visible, she could tell their mouths were probably agape. ‘I meant “Decepticons”. Sorry. Force of habit.’

                ‘Still?!’ Ironhide spat.

                The spider leaped off the recoiling Hatchet, and back on top of Ironhide, wobbling before gaining her balance. ‘It’s been a while, okay?’

                ‘I know, but… God.’

                Both Dreads were wounded, but still gaining upon them vigorously. Despite the way they were leaking Energon, neither gave up in their pursuit. Then there was Crankcase to worry about. The triggercon had several points of concealed weaponry on his vehicle mode. While he wasn’t initially capable of opening fire without hitting his comrades, now that the Autobots had paved the way for him, he had a clear shot, and was intent on taking it. Ironhide was a heavily armored tank of a vehicle, and posed great fire-power, but even he couldn’t endure them forever. With a single mental command, Crankcase would fire everything at his disposal at the Autobot, and then he’d only have Optimus to worry about.

                Or, he would, if not for the fact that a second vehicle had crashed into him from his left side. Appearing out of a hidden alleyway after lying in wait for who knew how long. The vehicle accelerated further until Crankcase found himself toppled over on his side, weapons firing in random directions and missing every mark. It pushed him until he was far off the edge of the road, and with his back-wheels spinning futilely. The vehicle did a three-point turn and drove after the others. When it was gone, Crankcase transformed and fell onto his back. He got up to chase after them, only to see how far behind he really was. There was no way he’d catch up to them. _Oh well._ Crankcase turned around to go home. He was sure Spinister and the Dreads could handle it. Even if they had been outnumbered with the addition of Prime’s fourth piece of cannon-fodder. He paused. Did Team Prime have three members, or four?

\-----

The vehicle quickly approached them. This wasn’t a difficult task, as Ironhide and Optimus were both slow moving vehicles, and the Decepticons had no trouble lowering their speeds to match theirs. The new arrival, however, had no intentions of slowing down.

                Blackarachnia squinted at the vehicle. It was silver in colour, with long, slick rims and a roaring engine. ‘More company!’ Blackarachnia bellowed. ‘This guy’s way smaller than the other two. Want me to go all “Decepticon” on its aft?’

                Through his rear-view mirror, Optimus spotted the car. One thing of note was its faction symbol, or lack there-of. Instead of a Decepticon or Autobot sigil, there existed a rub-sign; a setting that blotted out whatever faction the car was really a part of. Whatever it was, it did not want to be recognized by one faction or the other. ‘Not yet,’ Optimus responded. ‘In case of the off-chance it’s a friend, focus your attack on the others.

                Not that Blackarachnia had a chance, as the vehicle had already approached Crowbar. From its grill, a panel opened and produced a long, binding wire that copter’d towards Crowbar and wrapped around his legs. Tied down, the Dread bounced and flopped over before rolling across the pavement. With him out of the picture, the silver vehicle advanced to Hatchet, overtaking the Dread and drifting in a full circle before aligning itself with the approaching attacker. It accelerated forward, activating some concealed plate-shaped weaponry that shot what Prime would only describe as a beam of sound and colour at his foe. The odd projectile stunned Hatchet long enough for the smaller vehicle to ram the Dread’s legs, tripping the beast, and sending it toppling over the side of the road, unable to move with its legs mangled, and its mind a psychedelic mess. Before he could do anything about Spinister, the helicopter was already gone.

                Ironhide braced to fire upon the new arrival, but the silver car only responded with a series of random flashes and noises. After it had finished whatever it said, it swerved around, and entered an adjacent alleyway out of view.

                ‘Nice guy,’ Blackarachnia observed, almost disappointed to have the show stolen from her.

                ‘But what _was_ that?!’ Ironhide demanded.

                ‘I don’t know,’ Optimus said. ‘But whoever they are, they saved our hinds. I think we lost them.’

                ‘What were those noises it made?’ Blackarachnia asked.

                ‘Unless I’m wrong, I’d say that was Autobot code.’

                ‘Autobot code?’ Blackarachnia asked. She was unfamiliar with most Autobot customs.

                Optimus explained: ‘In order to avoid Decepticon surveillance operatives listening in on Autobot plans, a bunch of Autobot Counter Intelligence operatives like Mirage and Repugnus invented the encrypted Autobot frequency in order to send messages unattainable by the Decepticons.’

                ‘He’s the one we’re looking for then?’ Ironhide asked.

                ‘Probably.’ Optimus turned into another alleyway and off the main road. Once they were certain they were hidden, Optimus and Ironhide transformed to rest. The three walked slowly towards the other end of the alley. Outside was another road, positioned underneath the layer like the one they had escaped from. Beyond that was a large edge, looming over Bludgeon’s Energon reservoir. A massive lake of Energon that stretched throughout the city’s underworld.

                Blackarachnia was the first to ask. ‘So, what’d he say?’

                ‘If my comprehension of Autobot security protocols is as up to snuff as I remember, I think he wants to meet up. Only hindrance to his plan is that he doesn’t want to give away to the Decepticons that he’s on our side.’ He opened his wrist compartment and activated a digital note-pad of sorts. ‘What followed sounded like a set of coordinates. I should be able to decipher it while it’s still in my head, but it’ll take a nano-klik.’

                Ironhide leaned against the nearest wall within the alley, arms crossed and kept to himself. ‘Y’think we can trust him?’

                ‘You have any better ideas?’ Optimus said only briefly looking up from his work.

                Ironhide grunted. ‘Guess not. Still, you can never tell with those rub-signs.’

                Blackarachnia wandered around him, grinning like a cat. ‘Yeah, because Bludgeon’s obviously sent one of his guys to beat up his other guys in order to lull us into a false security and fall into his trap.’ She chuckled. ‘The Decepticons’ plans aren’t _that_ contrived, Ironhide. Trust me on this one.’

                Ironhide shrugged. ‘Just saying. I’m sure our Good Samaritan is going to be a good guy—I _hope_ he is, of course, but we can never be too careful.’

                ‘Sure, Ironhide.’

                Optimus nodded, and closed his program. ‘Alright, I’ve found their location. Ironhide’s right, we cannot afford to be careless while in enemy territory.’

                As soon as he said this, the walls exploded around them. Optimus felt himself flying through the air before landing in the center of the road. Ironhide and Blackarachnia fell not far from him, but they were out of his peripheral vision. He sat up, expecting to find Spinister or Crankcase to have followed them through the city. What he found was worse.

                It was Bludgeon’s trump card. He was a massive Decepticon; one that was both acclaimed and feared by both factions. He worked under the tutelage of Yoketron alongside Bludgeon and Banzaitron years before, but it added very little to his inherited strength. His skills in Circuit-Su made him something of a broker of information on how to attain such abilities. Over time, he became something of a ‘Ninja Consultant’—a teacher of others who were brave enough to approach him in the first place, but it wasn’t a sought out or preferred position, it was something that just happened. When Bludgeon needed allies, he was one of the few whom he contacted personally. Of course, he did not care to make contact with the self-proclaimed Decepticon leader, but the results interested him.  Years he spent as City Commander of the Decepticons, but really he was only positioned there during his times of idleness. Times in which a void filled his mind—where all motivation, and all thoughts turned into a hub of nothingness.

He was most alive in combat, and that suited Decepticon high command just fine.

He was their weapon to destroy, and that suited Sixshot just fine as well.

                Sixshot scooped Optimus up by the throat, and held him towards his face. ‘That’s it?’

                Optimus was too terrified to move.

                ‘You’re Optimus Prime? You’re the one who killed Megatron?’ He rolled his eyes and let out a gust of steam from his mouth-vents. ‘No, you’re just disappointing.’

                Ironhide charged him, cannons flaring. ‘Let go of him!’

                Sixshot span around, and swung his foot, kicking Ironhide in the gut. He then pinned him to the ground under his heel before kicking him over, and lifting him off of the ground with his free hand. Without a moment of consideration, Sixshot tossed him aside. He was of no importance to the phase-sixer.

                Ironhide crashed through a wall and landed hard on his side, writhing in the rubble. ‘Yeah… you better run.’

                Sixshot shot Blackarachnia a glance that froze her in her tracks. The ex-Decepticon knew full well Sixshot’s reputation, and was not nearly as gung-ho as Ironhide was about taking on the enemy. With no reason to waste his energy on the weaker beings, Sixshot took to the air with Optimus in his grip. He hovered over Bludgeon’s Energon reservoir, dangling Optimus over it. ‘Listen, I don’t know how someone like you managed to kill someone like Megatron, but however it was, I doubt it was by any physical means.’

                Optimus wouldn’t say a word.

                ‘Well, anyway, I guess smarts are a big part of what puts people on top. And that deserves _some_ form of recognition.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. ‘You know, it’s really easy for me to kill you right now. I could put my fist through you and your friends before you even realize you’re dead. But listen, you’re boring, but I know you killed the boss _somehow,_ so I’ll be willing to give you a second chance.’ He gestured to the Energon reservoir below. ‘If you can’t already tell, I don’t really care much for Bludgeon. I only came here because he promised me he could find you and I wanted to see what you were really like. That and because Obsidian promised me you would be worth it.’

                _Obsidian?_

                ‘I’ll admit that what you did was impressive, in a way, but I don’t see you as someone who’s potential is fully formed. So I’m thinking, why kill you now when I can plant you and let you grow?’ He realized how odd he sounded and cleared his throat. ‘You, uh, understand what I’m saying?’

                He had nothing to say.

                ‘I’m not going to kill you. Not definitively, at least. I’ve been looking for something more impressive, and while you don’t have that now, I like to think you may possess that sort of potential. If you do survive this, find me. Then we’ll have a proper _conversation_.’

                With that, Sixshot let go.

                And Optimus fell.

\-----

Blackarachnia and Ironhide hid in the rubble as one of Sixshot’s lackeys approached him.

                They were orange and green, with sharp claws and teeth. It was obvious their frame was made to incite intimidation. ‘There you are! You just bolted on us without saying a thing and had us looking all over for you. We thought you might have killed yourself when you didn’t answer your…’ he suddenly became privy to the nearby wreckage. ‘Did something happen?’

                ‘Yeah, Sinnertwin. I found Optimus. He’s indisposed for now.’

                Sinnertwin made an uncertain gesture. ‘You mean he’s dead, or…?’

                ‘Who knows?’ He began moving away from the cliff. ‘I don’t.’

                That only raised more questions, but Sinnertwin wasn’t quick to judge.

                ‘But he’s not our concern anymore. Come on, we’re leaving.’ Sixshot transformed into his tank-mode so he could ride alongside Sinnertwin.

                Confused, Sinnertwin followed him. ‘Whaddyou mean we’re leaving? As in, the whole planet?’

                ‘Right.’

                ‘Good, I hate it here.’ The Terrorcon paused for the moment. ‘Shouldn’t we inform Bludgeon about this?’

                ‘Nope.’

                ‘Good, I hate him too.’

                Ironhide and Blackarachnia escaped cover only when they were certain Sixshot and Sinnertwin were gone. Then, they quickly darted across the road and stared down the drop into the lake. It was a long one.

                ‘Why the hell would he do that?’ Blackarachnia wondered. ‘He didn’t even _try_ killing him!’

                ‘No idea. You can never rely on a Decepticon psychopath to make sense.’

                Blackarachnia snarled. ‘Your best friend was dropped off the side of a cliff and your first thought is to get all bigoted with me?!’

                ‘Dammit Blackarachnia, I’m only trying to reason what happened! Optimus is down there and it’s our job to retrieve him. Our friend can wait— one of us will have to dive in and grab him.’ He shook as he remembered a specific fact about his friend. ‘We need to hurry— Optimus can’t swim.’

                Blackarachnia let out a long sigh, and stood with her heels against the ledge. ‘Alright, moment of truth.’ She kicked off the side of the cliff and plummeted into the pool of Energon miles down. She disappeared under the waves with a ker-plunk, leaving Ironhide alone at the cliff-edge.

                Ironhide peered over the edge, and wondered aloud. ‘She at least knows how to swim, doesn’t she?’

                Ironhide found his answer when she still hadn’t resurfaced after five minutes. ‘Crap.’ He jumped in after them.


	46. Drowning

                Optimus had seen several action movies during his time on earth. Several of which featured humans jumping off bridges and into rivers or lakes below. They would descend with a splash, and arrive safely ashore where they’d meet up with their colleagues. Whoever came up with that idea was obviously a dirty liar. The Energon hurt like hell. It smashed into Prime’s back like a comet only to suck him in until he was surrounded by nothing but void-less pink. The liquid entered his pores and flowed through his veins. What made it worse was that, as luck would have it, Optimus could not swim. He tried thrashing, but his limbs eventually gave out and refused to move. The pressure of the viscus lake was affecting Prime’s better judgement, and he was certain the Energon had seeped into his head and coated his brain module.

                Optimus thought this, because he was suddenly back on Earth.

                ‘What is it, Hubcap?’ The short, golden robot walked alongside the Prime. His head only came up to his waist, but that was to be expected from someone with a mini-bot body type. ‘It’s not often you come to visit in person.’

                ‘Special occasion.’ He shrugged. ‘After this I’m being promoted to head of communications. Not going to have a lot of free time after that.’

                Optimus was surprised. ‘No kidding! I thought Blaster already held the position.’

                ‘You hadn’t heard? He’s retiring. Says he wants to start his own radio show. He thinks motivation and advice will do more good for the soldiers than sitting behind a computer terminal.’

                ‘Huh.’ Optimus turned his head forward. They were approaching the end of Autobase’s corridor into the outside world. Earth really was beautiful, Optimus thought. ‘You know, Prowl’s getting promoted as well. He’s going to become one of Delta’s head strategists.’

                Hubcap feigned a wince. ‘Geez, and I thought I had it good.’

                ‘Yeah, he really deserves it. The job requires a lot of responsibility though. I’ve put him off-duty just so he could finish all his identification and paper-work. He’s got a boatload of it.’

                They reached the end to find a ship docking. Autobase was located in a non-descript region of the planet. While the humans were aware of their activity, the government made it so their community wasn’t left out in the open for the rest of the planet to see. It was the way it was in case of a Decepticon attack, but that was unlikely. Earth was fairly off-the-grid for its size. Optimus was glad. It was good not to worry about getting involved with the war.

                ‘Which is why Delta sent his replacement.’ He gestured to the landed ship. A dark magenta figure stepped out, accompanied by a younger pair.

                Optimus frowned. He wasn’t fond of the idea of Prowl leaving, but he knew it was for the best. ‘Well, as long as they’re suitable for the job.’

                ‘Ask her yourself.’ Hubcap gestured a hand towards Prime’s new lieutenant, and introduced her to him.

                Optimus offered a handshake. ‘Hi. My name is Optimus.’

                She refused to take it. Prowl’s replacement stood arms crossed as she surveyed the area with an intense air of professionalism. ‘This place is a mess.’

                _Rude!_ Optimus had spent sleepless nights cleaning his base of operations thank you very much. ‘I’m sorry?’

                ‘The lack of organization is astonishing. I found, like, three squads running around a populated area for no reason other than to take in the sights. They didn’t seem to be properly numbered either. Where are your divisions? Where are your sub-groups? Actually, speaking of populated areas, have you made any attempt of an alliance with the Earthen Government? I’d have at least expected your “Team Prime” to have made alliances with all the major democratic countries, but from what I can tell you’ve managed to negotiate complete separation from the earthen populace. How are you supposed to combat the Decepticons if your forces are all scattered and inattentive? It’s repugnant!’

                Optimus massaged the bridge of his nose. Things were not off to a great start. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too.’

                ‘My name is Elita,’ she nodded briefly but sternly. ‘And I’d be very willing to advise some major changes around here.’

                ‘Alright,’ He responded firmly. He wasn’t trying to sound professional, he’d never accomplish it. He was only telling her what they both wanted to hear.

                Elita squinted at him suspiciously. She did not seem to want to give in to his willingness. In her experience, there _had_ to be some other motive or some veil hiding his disagreement. Or maybe he just didn’t hear her correctly. ‘What?’

                ‘Alright. Teach me. Show me what has to be done.’

                It was clear she was expecting some resistance. Instead she showed her palms and shrugged. ‘Well okay then. When do you want to start?’

                ‘Now.’

\-----

Time blurred forward. History passed. Faces fluttered by.

                ‘You sure that’s necessary, sir?’

                ‘Yes, Hot Rod. If Elita thinks we need the third and fourth squadrons taking point, then the third and fourth squadrons should take point.’

                Elita didn’t say a word. She nodded from behind; looming over his shoulder like an older sibling taking stock on potential bullies. Her arms were folded like any obedient lieutenant’s would.

                ‘Well, uh, sir yes sir.’ He made a salute and walked out of Autobase’s control room, nearly bumping into Prowl along the way. The strategist was carrying a stack of books with one hand, and phoning a call through with the other.

                Grinning, Optimus cupped a hand around his mouth and called Prowl out. ‘Still hitting the books?’

                Prowl looked over, smiled, nodded, and moved on with his books in check.

                Optimus was happy for his friend, even if it meant he didn’t get to interact with him like he used to.

                Elita cleared her throat. They were alone. ‘Prime, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.’

                ‘What is it, Elita?’

                ‘Why are you so bad at your job?’

                ‘Good question, Elita.’ Optimus was grinning. He couldn’t get mad when the insult was so straightforward.

                She held her forehead. ‘No… that’s not what I was trying to say. I meant—why don’t you live up to the unwritten behaviour called for in Primes? Regal military leadership, strict disciplinary—well, whatever. You’re too nice, Optimus.’

                ‘I could have answered your first question, Elita.’ He turned away from her. ‘I didn’t _want_ to become a Prime.’

                Once again, Prime’s existence baffled her. ‘What are you talking about? You were automatically promoted to one of the highest ranks in the Autobot army and that doesn’t make you proud?’

                ‘It’s not because of the responsibilities,’ Prime admitted. ‘It’s because I was forced into it beyond my will. Personally, I wanted to be a doctor. Ever since I came into being, I knew I wanted to help people, but I was never a supporter of the war itself. I trained to become a doctor for quite a while—I even got decent grades in medical school back when I first attended. Then one day—poof. Turns out I had Primal-Positive blood, and I was immediately drafted into the Hub’s war academy. Ironhide was there, as were others. I had my body-type reduced and the fat trimmed so that I looked more the part instead of the puffy, round ambulance I was born to be. Problem was, I still don’t have any muscle on me, and no amount of training could change that. I had everything taken away from me, just because I may or may not be a descendent of one of the thirteen. Training was a chore, and it was only thanks to a few graduates that I was able to pass. So here I am now—a Prime on a planet that doesn’t belong.’

                ‘Hm.’ Elita considered this for the time being.

                ‘You can take full leadership if you’d like.’

                Elita considered this as well. ‘No,’ then she added: ‘Not full leadership, at least. It would be better for us to lead together.’

                Optimus cocked a brow. ‘What gives you that idea?’

                ‘Because if you’re going to suffer through a job you hate then you might as well make some attempt to be good at it.’

                Optimus shrugged. He couldn’t argue.

\-----

Time flies. Literally, from Optimus’s perspective. One thing blurred into the next. Days of conversations with Elita fluttered past, and they met each other once again. Events unfurled and passed on between them, but none were of any significance in hindsight. Optimus began to realize how little he really knew of Elita. He remembered being much closer to her, but really, they knew each other in a professional capacity, and little more. Part of him felt embarrassed for implying such to Chromia and Arcee at the time. There was no doubt he was a different mech now than he was then.

                ‘I have sisters.’

                They were seated atop Autobase’s walls. Looking out at the Canadian forest that stretched before them. Optimus hummed. ‘I did not know that.’

                ‘They’re coming to visit soon. They want to at least. I still need your or Prowl’s permission first.’

                ‘Permission granted.’ He didn’t give it a second thought.

                ‘I haven’t seen them in a long while. Getting involved with the military does that to you, I guess.’

                ‘I know plenty of folks who join the military just to get _away_ from their families,’ Optimus told her.

                Elita shrugged. ‘I only joined because I was good at it.’

                Optimus nodded in agreement, then smirked. ‘How modest of you.’

                She laughed, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

\-----

                The brief moment of pain sent him gasping through time. To a time of dread. Forests burned. Soldiers wept. The Decepticons had torn the planet apart. Starscream and Soundwave were the orchestrators of Earth’s destruction. They led legions from either poles and worked their ways towards the other side of the planet in a spiral pattern. The earthen military fought back—but their nuclear weapons did more harm to themselves than the enemy. Earth being the center of galactic trade made it the optimal strategic outpost for Megatron to launch his assault. And soon, Megatron came to finish the job. Optimus never got to meet the Decepticon warlord at the time, but he knew he was there. Somewhere on that blue and green planet, Optimus and Megatron stood on the same soil. Elita assured him that he could lead, but Prowl wasn’t as certain. It was also before they understood the sheer scope of the assault. Optimus sent forces to defend the humans, but by scattering them, Optimus had weakened their military strength exponentially. He hadn’t even considered the flimsiness of his numbers.

When Autobase’s defenses were obliterated, Optimus could barely stand. He retreated back into his room, and cowered in fear throughout the fight. He was no soldier—he didn’t understand the necessity of sacrifice, or how real heroes strategized. He didn’t even understand what was going on, or why. The Academy trained him to be athletically fit and to perfect his mental and physical reflexes. It did not teach him what to do under an assault by the cream of the Decepticon armada. It was days before he made a move.

Optimus would finally charge into the madness. Friend and foe clashed alike. The battle was dying down—devolving into a lazy mess of twisted violence and forgotten motives. Optimus killed someone, though it was not one whose face he knew. They were a Decepticon, and that was what mattered. His Ion Blaster went off, and the Decepticon’s head exploded before he knew he was being followed.

Optimus continued his charge. He did not look as important an individual as he was, which meant few shots bounced his way. He found Elita. Carcass tossed to the side and into a pile of wreckage like a forgotten ornament of war left to gather dust. Optimus took her side and examined her. Her spark was active, but her brain module was caving in.

                ‘I can save her…’ He never finished his medical training, but he knew enough to operate.

                Prowl approached him from behind. Why was he here? He should have been leading the defense at Mississauga.

                ‘Prowl—I can save her. Just give me the proper tools and—‘

                ‘I should have sacrificed the humans in the first place.’

                Optimus didn’t know what Prowl was talking about, so he didn’t bother to ask. He liked to think he couldn’t hear him over the stray gunshots in the distance, but that was a lie. Prowl’s words never sounded clearer.

                Prowl clarified, even when it wasn’t asked for. ‘I shouldn’t have positioned half our troops to guard them when they should have been here. I shouldn’t have taken your word. Now those forces have been decimated, and the humans will follow.’

                Optimus was busy trying to reconnect Elita’s fading spark to her fuel pump.

                ‘Do you hear what I’m saying? We’ve lost, Prime. These past few days nobody has had a clue what to do because their Prime wouldn’t deliver any orders. I thought that by abandoning the humans at the last minute we’d stand a chance, but I was wrong. It wasn’t enough time. Our forces are halved and shrinking. I called in Hubcap, and he’s sending a ship for pickup. We’re leaving Earth, Prime.’

                Optimus listened. He did not speak.

                ‘Fortunately, several surviving countries had large numbers of their populations escape in shuttles, but I’m not sure how much longer they’ll last.’

                Finally grasping hold of the situation, Optimus’s hand slipped, and Elita came back online. The Lieutenant Commander shrieked. The connection wasn’t exact, and her spark was burning up.

                ‘No!’ Optimus screamed, trying to find where he made his mistake.

                Prowl understood, and approached her. ‘They taught us how to deal with this.’

                He pulled out his hand-gun, and took the shot.

                Optimus had already grabbed him and thrown him aside, but the shot was made. Elita’s chest was set ablaze.

                ‘What have you done!?’

\-----

                What have you done!?

                What have I done?

                What did I—

                Optimus didn’t leave on the first set of shuttles with Prowl and the rest. He stayed with a handful of stragglers, living hunted by the Decepticons. It did enhance his survival skills, and would keep him alive for decades to come—and events he would never imagine, but in the end, out of that group of stragglers, only he and Hot Rod made it out alive.

                He realized too late that there were several factors that led to Earth’s fall. The Decepticons recognizing it as an easy target and beneficial starting point to the Surge. Autobot Command sending an inexperienced soldier in charge of a planet based on religious prefix and a historical prophecy. Himself, for cowering inside Autobase during the siege and refusing to take the necessary precautions despite Elita’s precognitive advice. Then there was Prowl. He blamed High Command for him as well. Prowl was trained – or in Prime’s opinion: brainwashed – through and through to become the ultimate pragmatist. He was tutored into becoming the greatest military strategist that ever existed—one that held no biases, and sought out every possible solution, no matter the means. Prowl redirected several squads away from the humans’ protection, resulting in many of their deaths, but it was generally accepted that by rallying his forces, the Autobots were able to escape at all.

                Elita survived. Thanks to Optimus, apparently. If he hadn’t redirected Prowl’s shot, she’d be dead in seconds. Because of him, Elita was instead forced into a coma of sorts. Living what remained of her shattered spark on life-support and manufactured fluids. While Ratchet didn’t rule out the possibility of her waking up, he expected the sort to be a thing of miracles. And Ratchet did not believe in miracles.

                Optimus was not a bot of war. Both strategically, and physically. After his failure on Earth, both pre-surge and post, he had realized that his place did not exist within the Autobot army. So he booted up his Ark and left. As a Prime, High Command would no doubt reassign him, and he was not ready to bear that responsibility once again. He did not trust himself with the responsibility of so many lives, especially after the turnout. High Command would never convince him to do anything in their favor. He promised himself that.

                A doctor in training turned war leader—the outcome Prime faced was to be expected. Most Primes turn out to be quite proficient in their jobs. Of course, there were the few such as Crow Prime and Modus Prime who were less than stellar. They succeeded only in leading smaller groups and infiltration teams of sorts, but Optimus was the only living pacifist of the bunch. The other pacifistic Primes tended to die out after a week or two. Optimus was a “miracle”.

                With Prime gone, the survivors of “Team Prime” – Ironhide, Prowl, Firestar, Flareup, Hot Rod, Chromia and Arcee among others – had the choice of either assimilating into another Primal guild, or going their separate ways. Hot Rod was recognized as Rodimus after a double check-up, and became leader of “Team Rodimus” alongside Firestar and Flareup. Chromia believed Elita to be next in line, and named her guild “Team Elita” in her honour. Though with Elita in stasis, Chromia had no choice but to take command. Prowl achieved his position in High Command, while Arcee worked between him and her sister Chromia. Ironhide spent most of his days working as an Autobot mercenary who passed between outposts helping where he could.

                Optimus loathed Prowl the more he heard of his friend’s actions after his promotion. His view on living beings as numbers and calculations infuriated Optimus, and his choices in the battle on Earth only proved to him the changes Prowl had gone through drowned out whatever remained of the Prowl he knew. Whether it was before his training or after, Prowl had used him as a launch-pad to ascend the ranks. He would never view Prowl favorably ever again.

\-----

                Optimus felt a weight press onto his shoulders as he awoke. He rolled over, threw up the Energon that seeped into his system, coughed out what remained, then rolled over, and laid on his back.

                Ironhide and Blackarachnia sat across from him. They were positively soaked. Blackarachnia was uncharacteristically quiet, but Ironhide was quick to act. He hobbled over and squeezed Optimus on the shoulder. ‘You alright?’

                Prime’s optics seared long after he had opened them. ‘Yeah.’ He tried to look around. They were sat on a metallic shore. ‘What happened?’

                ‘Sixshot.’

                The name woke the memory tucked deep inside Prime’s mind. He had been thrown into a lake of Energon by the phase-sixer himself. ‘What happened?’ He asked again.

                ‘You were dropped into Bludgeon’s Energon reservoir,’ Ironhide explained. ‘Blackarachnia dove in to save you, but when she couldn’t accomplish that, I dove in after her and dragged the both of you out.’

                Blackarachnia did not look pleased. She was not ready to thank the weapons specialist just yet. She too looked as though she had taken a stroll through the past. ‘I was just doing my civic duty,’ she muttered. ‘After all, if you died I’d have no one to hang out with but _Ironhide_ for the rest of my life.’ She cringed dramatically.

                Ironhide let out a grunt.

                Optimus tried to stand. He was shocked by how easy it was for him. ‘Are you guys alright?’

                ‘Yeah,’ Blackarachnia said. ‘Turns out an Energon bath is just what I needed to get this show on the road!’ She flexed her biceps just to prove a point. ‘I feel all souped up now that I’ve got Bludgeon’s power-juice in my veins!’

                Ironhide snorted, then turned to Optimus. ‘We’re fine, Prime. Just say when and we’ll get right back on track.’

                Optimus nodded. ‘Before we do that, I want to talk about Sixshot. What happened after I… went offline?’

                ‘He ignored us,’ Ironhide explained. ‘If not that, then he hadn’t realized we were still there. One of his goons met up with him and they exchanged some words. Something about leaving the planet and Bludgeon behind.’

                ‘You think he’s really gone?’ Blackarachnia asked. Sixshot had left her on edge. The Decepticons knew as well as the Autobots the horrific legacy of the Phase-Sixer.

                ‘I think so,’ Optimus told her. ‘Sixshot told me that his only reason for coming here was because of something Obsidian said to him.’

                ‘The helicopter guy?’

                ‘Yeah. Then he told me I wasn’t worth his time before sending me down under.’

                Ironhide paced back and forth. ‘Y’think we can trust a word that monster says?’

                Blackarachnia cut in. ‘Hell if I know—hell if _anyone_ knows. There isn’t a single Decepticon that knows what goes on in Sixshot’s six-brained skull.’ She tapped her helm. ‘That I know for fact.’

                ‘Besides, we have more important business to worry about.’ Optimus showed them his wrist, and projected a thin map-shaped hologram of the city. ‘We still need to meet up at the co-ordinates our new friend provided us with. I don’t want to rush either of you, but I do want to get to them before anyone else does.’

                ‘Right.’ Ironhide transformed into his truck-mode and Blackarachnia hopped on. ‘Let’s get going then.’

                Optimus nodded and did just the same. ‘Follow my lead.’


	47. The Musician

                Her living quarters were shoddy. No, they were insulting. Everywhere she looked was an insult. That lamp: insult. The dust falling from the ceiling: insult. The stacks of rubble in the corner: insult. The stacks of Energon stolen from Bludgeon’s reservoir: delicious, but an insult nonetheless. Hell, this whole week was an insult to her. Why wouldn’t it be? She was the prisoner Bludgeon’s army had worked so hard to maintain.

                Everyone knew her name. She was an idol beloved by millions. Billions probably—but she liked to keep modest. Her name was Rosanna, and not long ago she worked as a data-processor under Chromia’s command. It was modest work—something to take care of while she prepared for her next performance. The planet Chromia had settled on—Pinea Omicron, housed very little life that hadn’t heard her music a thousand times already. That was no good. If people got sick of her music, then rumour would spread. People would think her music was… _bad._

                So she approached/begged Chromia about taking a tour, and while Chromia never really understood the necessity of her music, she was happy to let her go. Enthralled, Rosanna packed her bags, called up her old pit-crew, and headed to the first location of her tour.

                Already, someone had the gall to bump into her without even apologizing. Well, he _did_ apologize, but how was she supposed to know he meant it? Still, she chewed him out and let bygones be bygones. Later, however, she found the mech again. When her backup singer—Optipotamus was supposed to arrive, her moronic security had instead let in the same guy who bumped into her! The idiot not only stole the show for himself, but he absolutely ruined her big return to the stage! Everyone talked about him and not her. Also that had to be illegal, on like, a few levels.

                So. She went to the shipyard and demanded she learn the serial number of the idiot’s ship. When she didn’t get it, she took the opportunity to use her smaller form and Disposable Class capabilities to sneak around the counter and – when the clerk was on break – download the code onto her cortex. She’d proceed to deliver it to the law enforcement officials, or perhaps to Chromia instead—to rally the troops and teach the guy a lesson or two. She went back outside to ask where the police-station might have been—only to then become privy to what was overhead. The Decepticon flagship: The Nemesis was in a violent air battle with an army of Seekers high above the city. Metal and sparks rained from the sky, destroying buildings and architecture as the massive ship unleashed a payload of fire and steel at the masses. One piece of shrapnel bounced off Rosanna’s tiny head, and knocked her unconscious immediately.

                She woke when the battle was over. Quintessons and Organics alike were picking up the pieces. A big robot named Atlas assisted in the work—though she later realized Atlas was a primary name—that his full name was Atlas Burrows or Atlas Buried—something like that. He was not the Dai Atlas she knew to have left the Autobots to pursue religious endeavours. In fact the being didn’t seem to be mechanical at all, simply another alien manning a larger suit of robotic armor. She wondered if her pit-crew were alive. While she did, she witnessed a cracked tele-screen as it dished out recent news. The mech who had stolen her show was featured. The newscaster explained: _“This revelation has put many on edge, with the identity of the popular icon having been determined as none other than Optimus Prime. The Autobot responsible for the death of Decepticon Leader Megatron, and what has been considered the Spacefarer’s war, was seen performing on stage in the Talon district this past evening. Officials have declared that with his absence, the surrounding cities should be safe. But this does not dispel the fact that should he appear elsewhere, danger may very well follow.”_

                ‘What the hell?’

                A second attack came almost instantaneously. People knew Prime had visited Talon, and Bludgeon was the first to find out. The Tidal Wave blanketed the sky, and his pirates went to work. They tore what remained of Talon apart. Atlas escaped with a few Quintessons, but the city soon fell to the Decepticon’s wrath.

                ‘Go!’ he commanded. ‘Pillage, conquer. We are a warrior race, are we not?’ He sniffed the air as he witnessed the destruction surrounding him. ‘I thus claim this land in the name of the Crystal City and its sister lands…’ he muttered sardonically to himself.

                Pounce reported to him, snarling as like the beast he was. The clones were easy to make out, once you got to know them.

                ‘Report.’

                ‘We searched the ship’s registry. Someone has exported it to an alternate drive.’

                A growl emitted from Bludgeon’s skull-like face. ‘Frag. Sounds like Optimus has thought ahead. He’s either smarter than I imagined, or he’s tamed a mind-leech to do his bidding. Or a spectral worm. No matter—forget it, take in as many prisoners as you can. We’ll want to hear what they know about Prime. Keep them alive, but don’t worry about being gentle.’

                Pounce grinned his grin.

                Rosanna wasn’t conscious for much longer after that.

                There were a lot of things Rosanna hated. There were spies, traitors, fanboys, Optimus Prime, stalkers, Decepticons—

                The room of pain?

                Most of the prisoners were executed before long. It was almost unfortunate Bludgeon had no professional interrogators. Ferak and Tornado, the veterans from Squadron X, had the best experience with the process, so they were charged with the desecration of bodies organic and mechanical alike. Ferak did most of the work while Tornado watched eerily from over his shoulder. The general did not adhere to the same level of violence Ferak committed, but was far too unsympathetic to be playing the good cop. Every once in a while, Tornado would get a punch in—sometimes through the spark chamber. Every once in a while Finback and Thundertron would stop by to have their fun with them. Laughing and wheezing in unison. If one was laughing like a maniac, then the other was surely either coughing up a fuel pump, or heaving and dribbling down their chin. They were not spry.

                Some would have the rare honour of being executed by Bludgeon himself. Though the Decepticon leader liked to keep away from the others to give off the impression he had better, busier things to accomplish, he did appear to take a great many visits to Rosanna’s room of pain. She was sure they had tortured her longer than any of the others. Maybe it was because she was one of them. Cybertronian. NOT Decepticon. It wasn’t until she was within a splinter of life, and the room of pain had begun to close in had Ferak remembered something vital.

                ‘Aw slag.’ He shook his head. ‘What if we had something useful here?’

                ‘What are you talking about?’ Tornado asked impatiently. Everything seemed to test Tornado’s patience. And In Ferak’s case as a medic, even patients.

                ‘Call Bludgeon. I forgot I had a lie detector lying upstairs in my lab.’

                ‘Those things don’t actually work, do they?’

                He smiled proudly. ‘Mine does. Because I’m—‘

                ‘Because you’re “awesome” like that. Whatever. Can it crap results?

                ‘Generally. It reads brainwaves and determines whether what the prisoner says is true or not. It’s most accurate with Yes and No questions.’

                Tornado growled. ‘Fine, I’ll call Bludgeon.’ She gestured to the prisoner. ‘This one better have something useful.’

                That she did. It was—

                The room of pain.

                -- The Ark’s serial code. Gathered and exported while trying to file a complaint to the local law enforcement. It was all so stupid in hindsight. She broke the law trying to obtain the code. Then she was going to approach the police right after. Who would do that? Then there was the fact that the police would have pursued anyhow considering the danger he wrought. She realized she deserved this. The room of pain existed when she existed. It had been waiting for her all these years. Rosanna and the room of pain were star-crossed lovers spending their eternities drifting towards one another before finally becoming one.

                The process was quick. They asked if she knew anything about Optimus Prime, and she spilled everything. Then they tried to get her to export the code. She refused. Not because of her loyalty to the Autobots, or spite towards her captors and torturers, but because she simply did not know how. She couldn’t even remember how she uploaded it into her system in the first place. The room of pain had taken that knowledge away from her, like it did a lot of things. She was able to use it to tell the Ark’s location herself. Where it last warped, at least. It was all she could do to avoid the room of pain. Not that she could escape it. They knew when she told a lie, so she told the truth every time.

                Bludgeon was ecstatic. ‘Well done!’ He laughed, patting Ferak violently on the back. ‘Well done!’ Tornado could tell his self-proclaimed Lordship was happy, as he otherwise hated engineers to the point of smacking them for little more than letting their eyes wonder. He especially hated Ferak, but in that moment he seemed to have forgotten everything about the Squadron X member other than the fact that he was the one that won him the Prime.

                He had everyone convinced he had won the war, and soon called up all of his old acquaintances. Rosanna heard names. Mindwipe, Sixshot, Krok, Banzaitron, Stranglehold—some had apparently arrived, others hadn’t. He paid great money to bring others to his side. Gutcruncher, Treadshot, Axer, Charger, Take-Off, Roadgrabber, Stratatonic… She heard most of this from her guards. They no longer tortured her – unless they got especially bored, of course – but then she had little else to listen to or say to them.

                Ferak would come down on occasion to receive co-ordinates. Sometimes it was Wingspan who would take them down—then send them over to Cannonball for warp. On the rarest of occasions, Bludgeon would stand in front of her, gazing upon his prize with pride. He wouldn’t say a word, he’d just stare at her through those round, socket-shaped holes in his face pathetically made to substitute for eyes. Rosanna was strung up with her wrists chained to the ceiling of pain. Sprawled out for people like Bludgeon to gaze upon her in order to bask in their own self-indulgence.

                One night, Bugly was left in charge of the guard. A couple of guards accompanied him in the form of Half-Track, Power Punch, and Direct-Hit.

                Half-Track would not shut up. ‘What do you think our titles will be once Bludgeon becomes the Emperor of Destruction?’

                ‘Emperor of Destruction is not an official title, Half-Track, that’s just what the Autobots call them.’ Direct-Hit droned.

                ‘What? Who?’

                ‘Whoever is in charge of the Decepticons?’

                ‘Oh. Well, you think he’ll make me a general? General Half-Track.’ He chuckled. ‘I like it.’

                ‘No, you clod!’ Power Punch snapped. ‘He’s going to make Krok, Tornado and the rest official Generals! We’ll be thirty-third in command then just as we are thirty-third in command now.’

                Half-Track shrugged. ‘Well yeah, but comparatively speaking, we’d have as much power as people like… like.’

                ‘Razorclaw.’ Direct-Hit told them. ‘Officially, the thirty-third Decepticon in command under Megatron’s rule is Razorclaw.’

                None of them felt very impressed. Razorclaw had been off gallivanting with his Predacons for decades now. Some questioned if he was even still alive.

                ‘Stop talking.’ Bugly commanded.

                ‘Is there a problem?’ Power Punch asked.

                ‘That was talking.’

                Power Punch raised his hands over his head. ‘Alright sir, sorry.’

                ‘Be quiet.’ Bugly wouldn’t allow a word.

                ‘Aye sir, sorry sir.’ Half-Track spouted suddenly. Power Punch and Direct-Hit groaned, bracing for what was about to come next.

                Bugly span around, optics blazing. ‘Shut up! Shut the frag up! You’re worthless— so petulantly worthless! Why are you even still alive?!’

                That shut Half-Track up. Bugly turned his back to them and the prisoner. He hated them, and they hated him back.

                A noise rattled throughout the room.

                Bugly let out an irritated sigh. ‘When I asked for quiet, that includes non-vocal—‘

                ‘That wasn’t us.’ Direct-Hit told him. As the sanest of the three, Bugly had to take what he said to be fact.

                A ceiling panel broke off and fell to the floor with a bang. Bugly stared at the slab of metal. ‘That’s it? Huh.’

                But that was before what emerged from the ceiling made its move. A silver robot dropped down, landing on Half-Track and dragging him to the ground with the blade of his elbow. Power-Punch gaped and whipped out a blaster. ‘Identify yourself!’

                The silver robot didn’t say a word. His rub-sign made it clear he didn’t want them to know which faction he belonged to.

                Bugly made a noise and folded his arms. ‘I don’t care who he is, kill him. _Now!’_

                Power-Punch opened fire, but the silver robot had already lifted Half-Track to his feet and used the small Decepticon as a shield. Half-Track became riddled with bullets before dropping to the ground. The intruder flipped through the air, scissor-kicking Power Punch and dragging him onto the hard, prison floor, before round-house kicking Direct-Hit in the face. While Direct-Hit recoiled, Power Punch rose to his feet, snarled, and attempted to grapple with the intruder. Bugly watched.

                ‘Why the hell aren’t you doing anything?’ Power-Punch called back to him.

                Bugly only snorted. ‘I’m commanding you to fulfill orders. That should be enough.’

                Power Punch tried to call through to Bludgeon and the others, but he only got static. ‘Dammit! The freak set an EMP!’

                In seconds, the intruder dispatched Power Punch with a few successive blows to the proper locations. Direct-Hit crept silently around the silver robot, preparing to strike. The intruder flipped around to attack the silent Decepticon, only for Direct-Hit to leap over the intruder’s head, and land behind him with a clear opening to his backside. What Direct-Hit didn’t expect, was for Power-Punch to take his chance and open fire. The shots hit Direct-Hit, blowing his head clean open.

                ‘No!’ Power Punch yelled. The intruder had already turned around to take on the remaining Decepticons.

                Power Punch stared wide-eyed at the intruder, then glowered with an unadulterated fury. ‘This is all your fault!’ He hollered, forgetting that he was the one who shot both of his comrades. He then whipped his head around to face Bugly. ‘No. You! You’re the one who’s at fault here. Why didn’t you help us?!’

                Bugly shrugged. Then at an almost supernatural speed, the mystic activated his Electro Stingers and penetrated Power Punch’s armour with each, crushing his spark before he even knew he was hurt.

                Power Punch stared a moment in shock, then scowled at his murderer. ‘Traitor…!’ But the Decepticon died before he’d know why.

                Bugly dropped the corpse to the ground and spat on it. ‘That was not worth my time.’

                In seconds, three more guards poured in to see what the commotion was about, only for Bugly to spin around, activate his proton rifles, and shoot three consecutive shots that nailed them through the eyes and torched their brain modules. They would never know why. The cell block was soon covered in bodies save for Bugly, the intruder, and Rosanna herself.

                The intruder looked perplexed. They weren’t expecting any assistance coming in. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but is there a reason you decided to do my job for me?’

                In a rare moment of nirvana, Bugly seemed entertained by the assailant’s question. ‘Because I like you.’

                The intruder was not impressed.

                Bugly clarified. ‘To illustrate how _historic_ that is of an occasion, I’d like you to know that I _hate_ everyone else—except for Bludgeon of course. But you… you have been training under Circuit-Su masters, I can tell.’

                The intruder didn’t say a word. He wouldn’t confirm or deny any of his backgrounds.

                ‘As a fellow practitioner of the art, I understand the discipline and mystics that accompany the practise. You and I are – well, maybe we’re not on the same level per se, but we are at least equals in a universe of degenerates who would sooner stare unintelligently at their own personal demons than keel over to the ones capable of veering them back into the light. I mean us, of course. The rest of the Universe is a hub of ignorance and sycophants, born to serve under those with the closest connection to the dark gods and their deities. The Magnus is a fabrication created as an opiate for the Autobot masses, and I highly doubt the Primes are any different. We are the true masters of our race, and when the return of the five who were taken occurs, then we’ll be the ones rewarded.’

                The intruder stared.

                ‘Well?’

                ‘Hmh?’ The intruder tapped the side of their head and a portion of their helmet detached. Specifically the point that covered their audio receptors. ‘Sorry about that, I sort of psyched out around the part where you said this was “historic”. I was drowning you out with the music from my head-phones instead. Been trying out some new tunes—punk metal, alternative rock, ja—well, you get the idea. You should have a listen—it might mellow you out some.’

                Bugly growled. He was sure the intruder was lying if only to stay on opposite poles with the mystic. To provoke a reaction at the very least. Bugly got mad often, and gladly took that anger out on his subordinates who deserved it. But he never let it cloud his judgement. He was above such ludicrous animosities. ‘Because you show potential with your practise, I will be willing to offer you a position as my student.’

                The intruder made an imitative gesture. ‘“And together we’ll rule the Universe”— yeah, see, I appreciate the offer, but between you and me… I think you need to find a hobby.’

                Bugly’s optical lids lowered. ‘Very well. Take all the time you need. If not under my supervision, then by yourself. Perfect your training of the art, and you will know a power so succulent you can just barely touch it with your dreams.’

                The intruder had already turned around and started unhooking Rosanna from her prison. He shook his head as he observed the mess they made of her. ‘Damn… now this is just inhumane.’ Rosanna dropped down into his arms, curling up as she did. The intruder looked over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, look. It’s not happening. Wait all you like, but if you’re not going to do anything about this, I’m just gonna take my friend here and leave.’

                Bugly shrugged. ‘What makes you hesitate? Are you an Autobot? If so then that’s disappointing, but… oh hell, you’re not one of those fragging atheists like Banzaitron, are you?’

                With Rosanna cradled in one arm, the intruder climbed into the duct from whence they came.

                ‘Well? What is it? Are you an Autobot? Or are you an atheist?’

                ‘Yes.’ Their voice called out from above.

                ‘So which is it?’

                But he only received silence, followed by the intruder’s head poking through the ceiling one final time. ‘Actually, I’m agnostic.’ He disappeared with Rosanna in tow.

                _He will come around_ , Bugly thought. Even if what he was doing was a technical betrayal, it was for the good of their race. To kill someone such as him would have been a waste and a blight on the universe itself. Still, he shivered, _agnostics._ _Ah well, he’ll see the full light/darkness one day._

                The mystic raised his photon rifle, aimed it down at his knee, and fired. The intruder needed to have escaped _somehow._ Poor Bugly was only following his formal duty.

Rosanna was carried with her optics shut. She had been freed, but no matter how often she tried, she could not escape. The room of pain followed her wherever she went. As if her rescuer – or was it captor— was crawling on one massive treadmill, the room forever followed her. A piece or two of her were left in that room. And a piece or two of the room were left with her.

\-----

                Since then, Rosanna had to spend her time waiting in her rescuer’s headquarters while he went off gallivanting to obtain more of Bludgeon’s Energon. From what he had told her, the Decepticons had blamed the loss of Energon from the reservoir on their more… needy troops. Ones who were getting a little too impatient for their salaries. Rosanna was sick of the place already. It was a dingy hole in the ground that hadn’t been cleaned in centuries. She wasn’t even sure how long her rescuer had spent in the hole. He didn’t have a ship… could he have been here longer than Bludgeon was? That only raised more questions that did nothing more than annoy Rosanna. God it was a mess. Empty Energon cans and rustic metallic tissues littered the area. She would have lowered herself to cleaning it all if she was at all willing to turn herself into a maid. But she wouldn’t. And she wasn’t. The only thing worse than having to stay here was—

The room of pain?

\-- having to wait for her rescuer to return. He spent far too much time out in the open for it to be healthy. The stench was starting to get to her. She swore that if that silver plated idiot did not arrive in three seconds she was going to—

                The doors parted, and her rescuer stepped in. He removed his headphones momentarily in order to hear Rosanna speak.

                And that she did. ‘What the hell were you doing out there?! You think I’m safe here on my own? I could die any minute!’

                He showed her his palm. ‘Hey, don’t sweat it. I’ve got automatic defenses surrounding the burrow. I was only gone to pick up some—.’ He stopped, flipped his headphones back on and clapped his hands. ‘Wait!’ He dropped down, picked himself up, and then arched his back. He began shimmying from side to side, clapping his hands as he did. He hooted and hollered. ‘Yes! This is my jam! One of them at least!’

                Rosanna only stared as the taller mech pranced from one end of the room to the other, kicking his feet and twirling into a ground spin. ‘What’d you say your name was?’

                Her rescuer did a handstand, flipping and rolling around stylishly in accordance to the rhythm of the music. ‘Name’s Jazz. First Lieutenant of Sentinel Prime’s Elite Guard. I don’t need any introductions from you.’

                She shrugged. It was no big deal. She was a famous idol, after all.

                Breakdancing into a backflip. Jazz twirled through the air before landing on his feet, clapping his hands in rhythm to the song. ‘Alright, now you say: “the date’s been changed” come on Rosanna, lemme hear you sing it too! “The date’s been changed/with each new phase/I’m anxious bouts of nervous”.’

                ‘I don’t know this song,’ she replied.

                Jazz removed his headphones, still smiling. ‘Anyway, I hear you’re a popular musician yourself.’

                ‘You could say that.’ She paused. ‘Wait, you haven’t heard my music?’

                He shook his head. ‘As I said, I’ve been busy spinning out some new tunes. Don’t knock it til you try it, I always say.’

                ‘Hm.’ Rosanna folded her arms, looking aside. ‘You have any of my songs loaded onto that music device of yours?’

                ‘Lemme take a peek.’ Jazz did so, and smiled. ‘I got the full package right here. Let’s have a listen.’

                Rosanna’s head whipped forward. ‘Wait! You don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want t—‘

                But Jazz was already bobbing his head as he listened to the rhythm of Rosanna’s music. While he wasn’t nearly as energetic as he was acting before, he did not seem bothered by the music being played. Rosanna was suddenly nervous. Very rarely did people listen to her music critically. It was something she poured her life into, but it was just fun, sugary pop music. Well, that’s how people perceived it anyway. She felt herself growing worried as Jazz put the headphones down. Wait, why did she care what he thought? He was just an Elite Guardsman. One who saved her life, but he was nobody famous as far as she could tell.

                Jazz smiled. ‘You’ve got something good here, Rosanna. You’ve got a great positive beat, very cheerful. But—‘

                _Oh god, here it comes._

‘—I think it goes a level deeper than that. Your music, I mean. There’s definitely a layer of longing or cynicism hidden underneath it all. It gives the music something else, y’know? A deeper meaning than something you’d find on just any old record shelf.’

                She raised her head. Nobody ever said _that_ about her music before. She questioned how that could be the case, but then she realized, she too was a cynical, depressive person, masked behind a bubbly upbeat persona that her fans adored. Being viewed by the masses as an object rather than a person did that to you.

                ‘You’re a real cool musician, Rosanna.’

                ‘Really?’ She wasn’t sure if she believed him, or if she even wanted to believe him. ‘Because I wouldn’t figure you’d be too into pop given your name is… er… Jazz.’

                ‘Like I said: I don’t knock it til I try it.’ That’s when he remembered. ‘Shoot. I nearly forgot. Our rescue party is here.’

                ‘What?!’ That news was too big to “nearly forget”. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?! You’re saying we’re going to be saved?!’

                ‘Calm down—we don’t know how well their ship is functioning yet. They’re on their way now.’

                ‘Really?’

                ‘Really.’

                Rosanna rested her fist under her chin in thought. ‘If they came to rescue us without a working ship then they _really_ need to get themselves under better management.’


	48. Found

                Krok stared at Bludgeon.

                Bludgeon stared at Krok.

                Krok knew what was coming, but there was nothing he could do about it but brace. He was lieutenant commander, and yet he was treated worse than the likes of Thundercracker. Bludgeon struck his lieutenant across the face. The manner of the hit was best defined as a smack, but it carried the force of a fully-formed punch that cracked Krok’s head forcibly to the side. Bludgeon turned to face the others as Krok collapsed to the floor in a pool of spittle. The whole gang was there, avoiding eye-contact by surveying the area of which the battle had occurred. The plain looked no different than before the chase. Any added scars or torch marks blended in with destruction that had been long since present.

                ‘How the frag did we lose him?!’ Bludgeon bellowed at no one in particular. His beard of wires writhed like several hungry snakes. ‘How?!’

                ‘Calm down, friend,’ Starscream’s teeth had gritted into a grin. He was a faux-friendly Decepticon in a real-unfriendly mood, but out of everyone there, he was the only one who’d dare speak up to the Decepticon commander. ‘They can’t be _that_ far away. My team and I’ll search the area. If we start now, we might even locate their ship.’ He grinned proudly. ‘Now wouldn’t that be swell?’

                Bludgeon was only half listening. He was contemplating Prime’s escape from the jaws of death against impossible odds. Crankcase reported a fourth vehicle supplying a rear attack and turning the tide in their favor. But then Crankcase wasn’t always reliable. Neither were Spinister or the Dreads for that matter, who appeared mindless at first glance. Obsidian speculated them to be the intruder who had stolen the prisoner, and formed an alliance with the Prime. But that didn’t bother Bludgeon. The prisoner was a faint memory wasting away in the tomb of his mind. After days of zero contact with Sixshot, the Phase Sixer made his move. But whatever had happened between Sixshot and Prime, it was enough to scare the former off planet.

                Optimus Prime. Murderer of Megatron. Murderer Sunstorm… Fought Starscream into submission, and scared the Phase Sixer Sixshot away without so much as looking back.

                Optimus was scaring him. Not in the way a youngling would fear a monster, or so he liked to believe, but the fear that would overcome an army captain with the knowledge that they’d be fighting a battle against impossible numbers. He had assumed from the start that Optimus possessed supernatural ability— but how long did that shadow of supernormality stretch…? Sixshot was his trump card. If all else failed, he’d sick Sixshot on his enemies and have him decimate everything between them. With him gone, Bludgeon was running low on options. He had good fighters on his side, but to what end was Optimus’ ability to kill? To survive? Starscream would only tell him snippets of his past encounters with the Prime, but that was not nearly enough to sate Bludgeon’s appetite for information. It was clear the Aerospace Commander either wanted to maintain what was left of his shattered pride, or had repressed something down inside him from the event—something important. His lack of clarity infuriated Bludgeon, but it only fed in to his belief that there was more to Optimus than met the eye. He had spent many nights in private, attempting to make contact with the Dark Gods: Syncorax, Devil Z, Hytherion, Unicron, Elder God, Harbinger… and the Light: Primus, Chronarchitect, Scuba Geso Mongō, Horus, Primacron, and Xal, for answers. There was no betrayal involved in contacting both spectrums. Like Ying and Yang, the light and dark gods could not exist without the other. He was certain to have received contact with them before, though they would only whisper small hints and tidbits. Metaphors and riddles were the popular cliché among gods, but they existed for a reason. The gods were a higher species on a higher plain. Just like how if you were to teach a lion to speak, we would still never be able to converse with it, the gods’ world was so vastly different that any attempt at contact made very little sense to the underexposed. Bludgeon understood, and the Gods were the only ones who understood _him._ He knew that they were on his side, but not even they appeared to know. And when not even the Gods themselves could tell him what Optimus Prime was, Bludgeon’s paranoia grew. What _was_ he? Destroyer of Megatron and Sunstorm. Blight of Starscream and Sixshot. He needed to know, and no answers appeared to exist. Even Banzaitron and Wingspan’s research on his history told him nothing. Prime lost a battle once in his life, and that was all. There was seemingly nothing important about the mech.

                He reared his ugly skull-shaped head towards Starscream. ‘Yes, go! Spread out and find them.’ He swung his hand in a wide oval above his head, gesturing to the army of thirty surrounding him. ‘That goes for all of you! Eliminate the Demon and bring what’s left to me! We’ll dedicate a unique form of ceremony in light of his demise.’

                In seconds, Bludgeon’s army had transformed and branched off into their separate groups. Taking to the skies and roads in all directions like a vast murder of crows that couldn’t decide on their destination of travel.

                The only one not to go was Obsidian, who approached him with the consistent air of professionalism he carried around with him. ‘Lord Bludgeon, if I may have a word.’

                Bludgeon knew well to put on a calm face. ‘Yes, you may. What is it, Obsidian?’

                ‘There might be a simpler way to rout out our infestation, if you’d care to hear it.’

                Bludgeon liked the sound of that. “Infestation.” It was a fantastic descriptor of their foes among other kinds of views and people. ‘What is it?’

                ‘Come on, Obsidian!’ Starscream shouted at him, Strika stood nearby, cracking her knuckles. Thundercracker and Slipstream had already jetted off in their search. ‘ _Please_ don’t waste my time, are you coming or not?!’

                Obsidian waved them away. ‘Yes! For heaven’s sake be patient! I will be there in a nano-klik!’ He focused on Bludgeon. ‘Sorry, where was I…? Assuming the intruder has been living within the city over a long period of time, it would be simple to deduce that he or she is the perpetrator of our Energon shortages.’

                Bludgeon brought a digit to where his chin would be. He had considered it before. ‘You’re sure our shortages aren’t the cause of something Misfire of Spinister conjured up?’

                ‘No. Not entirely, at least. But if the enemy expects to live here for an extended period of time, they’ll need to supply themselves with Energon. And the only available source of Energon on this planet is from your own personal reservoir.’

                Bludgeon mulled it over. ‘I see. Then what do you suggest?’

                His hands folded neatly in front of his lap. ‘I have two options available for consideration, both involve starving our foes to death. The first involves the transportation of our Energon resources to a protected area. Make their resources unobtainable and they’ll be left to starve. We _could_ technically station an army around the reservoir to guard its contents, but…’

                ‘But the reservoir is the size of a lake.’ Bludgeon said, both as a means of finishing Obsidian’s sentence, and of denouncing the notion. ‘It is the culmination of energy we collected in our conquest of the Universe this past century. We don’t have nearly enough bodies to surround it constantly, nor the proper time or equipment to cube it all. Even the Nemesis’ fuel tanks aren’t large enough for every last drop.’

                ‘We have too much Energon. What an awful dilemma,’ Obsidian mused. He was picking up sarcasm from Slipstream and Thundercracker. Or Starscream. Or Strika. In fact, Starscream’s entire brigade was a cesspool of sarcasm. ‘Which brings me to my second option: that we set fire to the reservoir.’

                Bludgeon was taken aback.

                ‘I know. It is the fastest and simplest means of snuffing out the enemy, but by far the most dangerous. The resulting fire would cause a chained explosion that would no doubt engulf the area of which our enemies are thought to be present.’

                ‘And everything along with it,’ Bludgeon finished sourly. ‘The reservoir stretches from the Citadel to the outskirts. Set it ablaze and it could drag everything – including the Citadel – down into the pit. We could put the city in even worse shape than it was before!’

                Obsidian splayed his tendrils. ‘Judgement over the sacrifice’s worth is in your hands.’

                He considered this. ‘We can always rebuild…’ realizing what he was saying, Bludgeon scowled, and buried the thought. ‘No. I don’t even know why I’m having this discussion. I’m not going to destroy this city, Obsidian. Doing so would be a sin worthy of immediate purgatory. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, general, but I will not sacrifice everything I’ve worked for just for the sake of a sanctioned scorched earth stratagem.’ He turned his back on the strategist. ‘That will be all.’

                Obsidian bowed his head before leaving. He fluidly folded into his helicopter form and, somehow, managed to catch up with Strika. Being a tank, she wasn’t the fastest of vehicles, but she was still mighty fast for the type of vehicle she lugged around in that form. The brigade had apparently split into two groups, as the Seekers were nowhere in sight.

                ‘What the hell was that all about?’ The tank muttered.

                ‘Nothing _too_ incredible,’ he told her. ‘Just parlaying some sagely advice to our wondrous Lord and Master.’

                She grunted. ‘You’re not parlaying him anything _too_ sagely, I hope. I hope you haven’t forgotten who we’re working for.’

                ‘Of course not. I’m only doing so to maintain the illusion that everything we do is for Bludgeon’s sake, and Bludgeon’s sake only. Everything I suggest to him involves sacrifices that directly contradict with his dogma. I can appear to be the most useful soldier in Bludgeon’s army and yet do nothing of any conceivable use for him.’

                ‘I think you’re overthinking things,’ she chuckled. ‘Oh wait— when do you _not_ overthink things?’

                Obsidian sighed. ‘You hurt me sometimes, Strika, you really do.’

                Their radios crackled. _‘Guys, you should come see this.’_

Obsidian answered. ‘What is it, Thundercracker?’

                _‘Slipstream found something.’_

Strika didn’t sound impressed. ‘Is it one of those creepy puppets Starscream keeps hidden away in his closet?’

                ‘ _What?’_

 _‘_ Recently I learned that whenever Slipstream finds something, nine times out of ten it’s going to be a creepy puppet.’

                _‘Just get over here.’_

                The duo drifted down to their position. It was in the lower layers of the city—somewhere on the plain of which Prime had fought against Crankcase and the others. Slipstream and Thundercracker waited for them in their robot modes.

                Slipstream was babbling something incomprehensible. ‘But yeah, if what Freud says about the phallic symbols in guns are true, then explain the crossbow?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Made’ya think.’

                Thundercracker looked like he was losing sleep just being around the former Aerospace Commander. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Actually, don’t answer that. I already know what you’re talking about. I’m just afraid of where it’s going.’

                ‘I mean—maybe if it’s diseased or something then I guess that would make sen— HOLY— WHAT THE CRAP IS THAT?! Oh. Wait. False alarm. It’s just Obsidian.’

                ‘Indeed,’ the strategist droned as he approached the two, ‘just Obsidian.’ He ignored Slipstream and moved directly towards Thundercracker. ‘What did Slipstream find?’

                Slipstream lifted the contraption up for the larger Decepticons to see. ‘It’s a crossbow.’

                ‘So it is,’ Obsidian observed the weapon. It was a primitive type, and had no conceivable means of inflicting any serious damage to a modern Cybertronian. He had thought the discovery of the weapon to be some joke with a punchline he was too old to properly understand. Then he remembered: this was Slipstream they were talking about.

                Strika cocked her head to the side. ‘Ah, it’s _not_ a puppet.’

                With no further reveals or explanations to say otherwise, Obsidian glared daggers into the blue seeker; perturbed by the apparent lack of significance that was present. ‘You’re wasting my time over this?’

                Slipstream pouted. ‘But crossbows are sick!’

                ‘She has a point, Obsidian.’ Strika agreed, arms folding. ‘Crossbows _are_ pretty sick.’

                ‘I don’t _care,_ Strika. I want something strategically significant. Not a crossbow just because its “cool,” or “sick,” as the kids say.’ He turned back to Thundercracker. ‘You’re the one who called me here, Thundercracker. What makes this primitive weapon so important?’

                ‘I’m glad you asked. Finally.’ He directed their attention to the bases of several broken skyscrapers lining the road. Sprouting out from the walls for about a quarter mile were numerous crossbow bolts. ‘Crankcase reported that Blackarachnia was using a shoddy crossbow for a weapon. I have reason to believe she used the weapon’s bolts as way to mark their path.’

                Obsidian played with his mandibles, humming as he did. ‘I see… they were here to locate the stolen prisoner, but to do that they both needed to tell their co-operator where they were, and to chart a path between them and their ship.’

                ‘With that logic, this trail should lead us directly to the Ark.’

                ‘Holy crap!’ Strika wore an evil grin. ‘Prime really screwed up this time, didn’t he?’

                Obsidian nodded, studying the bolts individually with meticulous care. ‘That he did. Excellent attempt, Optimus, but still not quite up to par.’

                Slipstream squinted at the strategist. ‘What is this, golf? We gotta see some action! We gotta really stick it in them, y’know? Just take the brigadier rod and just—just stick it right up there. Up in that exhaust port.’

                They stared at her.

                She clapped her hands together enthusiastically. ‘Well! Let’s split into our special teams then, yeah?’

                ‘Special teams?’ Obsidian made an inquisitive noise with his mandibles. ‘How can we separate into teams? There’s only five of us—and no, Thundercracker, Skywarp does not count. Not while he’s semi-conscious and merged with the ship. We can only divide ourselves into so many groups.’

                Slipstream smiled proudly. ‘Thundercracker and I made up team names.’

                Thundercracker quickly raised his hands above his head. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’

                ‘Thundercracker and I are Team Cool Dudes, while you guys are Team Married.’

                Strika faced Obsidian and shrugged. ‘Well, they’re half-right. We _are_ married.’

                Obsidian sighed. ‘For five-thousand years now, yes. If these “groups” are so relevant, then who is Starscream paired with?’

                Slipstream cackled. ‘No one. He’s a part of Team Emo Loner Loser Guy. Nobody wants to be on team!’ She cackled again.

                ‘Makes sense,’ Strika agreed. ‘Speaking of which, where is the nerd?’

                Thundercracker shrugged. ‘Beats me. I thought he was with you guys.’

                ‘Nope.’ Strika placed her hands on her hips and scanned the area. ‘Huh…’

\-----

                ‘Well, this is it,’ Optimus said.

                It was a small hole in a wall, disguised with wreckage and chunks of metallic plating splayed to hide itself from Bludgeon’s watchful eye.

                Optimus examined the burrow, then turned to face his team. ‘Ironhide, I want you to wait outside. Keep an eye out for any roaming Decepticons. Blackarachnia, you’re with me.’

                The weapons specialist nodded. ‘Got it. I’ll make sure that nothing comes near. Nothing living anyway.’

                Blackarachnia shrugged. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

                Optimus and Blackarachnia advanced cautiously into the burrow. They had to step over several lumps of rusted metal and machinery, but the trek was barely noticeable compared to what lay ahead. The inner burrow was dimly lit, but despite its winding turns, the area was only one, long hallway. They edged around corners, and spied down the block before advancing again.

                Blackarachnia spoke up, nearly startling Prime. ‘So, you really think our friend will be as accommodating as we expect?’

                ‘Shh!’ Optimus urged her. ‘Don’t be so loud. What are you talking about?’

                She smiled knowingly. ‘What I mean is: should we really be considering this stranger a friend of ours so soon _?’_

‘Considering they went through the trouble of saving our hides: I believe so, yes.’

                Blackarachnia made an over-exaggerated shrug. ‘Oh of course! Out of the goodness of their spark I’m sure.’

                Optimus was losing his patience. ‘Would you please quit beating around the bush and tell me what your point is?’

                ‘My point is that I think we’re being a touch too optimistic about this guy.’

                Optimus rolled his eyes. _Here we go again_ , he thought. Like Ironhide, Blackarachnia had a habit of seeing the worst in people. Of course, she had enough exposure to the worst kinds of people to back it up. During the trip itself, Blackarachnia had complained about risking their lives in the city looking for the prisoner. Maybe she was right, Optimus thought. It was only by chance they found their Samaritan, otherwise they would have perished under the Dreads’ claws.

                Optimus said, ‘You think this guy saved our lives just to stab us in the back himself?’

                ‘If he’s a Decepticon then that’s more than likely, yes. But if he’s an Autobot or Imperialist, or even a Decepticon working outside of general jurisdictions well, I’ve seen plenty of blackmailers in my previous line of work. I wouldn’t run it past this guy to threaten us into doing whatever he says—lest he lets slip our location and warp signature to a dangerous party.’

                Optimus let out a tired huff. ‘As Ironhide always says: nothing we can’t handle.’

                She chuckled. ‘I believe that one goes: “nothing we can’t handle—with our fists”. I’m serious, tell me you’re not expecting this guy to have some sort of ransom. Tell me you’re not worried.’

                Optimus snapped, ‘I wasn’t worried until you told me to be worried, dammit!’

                ‘Then why did you just tell me to be quiet?’

                Optimus frowned at her, then thought it over. ‘Fine.’ He activated his rifle, and kicked himself forward into a sprint, startling Blackarachnia and causing her to jumble after him.

                The two swiftly darted past several corners before reaching a final door at the end of the passage. Optimus kicked it down and the two rolled in, weapons at the ready.

                Inside was a lone, pink, minibot, who yelped, dropped her mug of Energon she had been calmly sipping on moments prior, and threw her hands into the air in surrender. ‘Holy crap! Don’t shoot—I’m too famous to die!’

                Optimus recognized the disposable class immediately, and the disposable class recognized him. They shouted in unison. ‘You?!’

                Blackarachnia squeaked a laugh. ‘Hah! You’re that chick that talked down Optimus back on Talon, aren’t you?’

                She groaned. ‘Yeah, how could I _possibly_ be anyone else?’

                Optimus was baffled. ‘How am I possibly supposed to know that?’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. Since you’re obviously the one with my serial code, that means whoever rescued you is—‘

                He felt the cold steel of a barrel press against his neck.

                ‘Don’t make a move,’ said the figure behind them.

                Blackarachnia had already raised her claws above her head. She was grinning maniacally. ‘I. Freaking. Told. You. So.’ Each delectable word was said in the most condescending—most domineering way Blackarachnia could muster.

                Optimus sighed. ‘What do you want?’

                ‘Your name,’ the gunman ordered quietly.

                ‘Optimus Prime, Leader of Team Prime.’

                ‘Why are you here?’

                ‘To rescue…’ he failed to remember her name, or whether he was even given a name in the first place, ‘this person, and take her to Chromia for safekeeping.’

                The former prisoner stifled a yelp. ‘I beg your pardon? I’m Rosanna! _Everyone_ knows who I am!’ She had completely missed the fact that she was being rescued in favor of her own notoriety.

                ‘Final question,’ the gunman said, quickly to interrupt before a row occurred between the two. Prime was liking him already. The gun barrels moved away from the backs of their heads and folded themselves away.

                Optimus turned around to face the gunman and made a sound that was half a yell and half a laugh.

                Jazz showed him a proud smile. ‘How long has it been since we last met?’

\-----

                Strika, Obsidian, and Thundercracker stood basking in the Ark’s presence and their evident victory. Slipstream danced around the ship, cheering wickedly. It was hidden well, but the trail of crossbow bolts led them to the general area. That narrowed their search down exponentially. ‘Ohoho! We’re gonna mess with them _so_ bad!’

                Strika couldn’t help but guffaw, she had taken the role of leader in Starscream’s absence. ‘Yeah, the Autobots are really going to pay now. With their fortifications under our control, we shall—‘

                ‘Touch their shit!’ Slipstream finished.

                Strika stared at her, not bothering to ask.

                ‘You know, without their permission! I’m going to touch ALL of their shit, and nobody is going to stop me!’

                ‘Yes, Slipstream.’ Strika looked away, deciding to ignore her instead. ‘We will have all their belongings in our possession. As soon as they return from whatever hole they are hiding in, we will unleash their own might upon them, and seize final victory!’

                Slipstream and Obsidian clapped while Thundercracker remained silent, waiting to get to business.

                Content with her performance, Strika approached the ship and prepared to break and enter. ‘As soon as we get inside, of course.’ She scanned the ship’s plating for an outline or hatch of sort but found nothing. ‘Hey… guys, help me out here.’

                Obsidian hovered around the Ark in robot mode while Slipstream and Thundercracker wandered around its perimeter, searching for a way inside from the ground.

                Strika struck the ship in frustration, leaving a crater shaped dent in its plating. ‘Dammit, I can’t find anything resembling a way in. Just multiple panels that look like they _could_ be entrances.’

                ‘Do we really need to find an entrance to get in?’ Thundercracker asked. ‘I mean, there has to be _some_ way to infiltrate an Ark.’ He turned to Obsidian, knowing that if anyone would know how to get inside, it would be the one with the most experience.

                Obsidian shifted in the air uncomfortably. ‘Why are you looking at me? Stop it. I can feel your stare contaminating my system.’

                ‘You’re the military genius, Obsidian.’

                ‘Yeah, so?’

                ‘So I expect you to have infiltrated dozens of Arks in the past. How did you do it?’

                Obsidian rolled his eyes irritably. It was as if he had explained the process to several foot-soldiers akin to Thundercracker in the past. ‘There’s a difference, Thundercracker. In battles, hatches open and close all the time to release soldiers into the fray. Furthermore, most infiltration proves successful when there is someone on the inside to be tricked into letting you in. There isn’t. We’re looking at a derelict wreck with no way of getting in at a technical level.’

                Strika smacked herself on the forehead. ‘Duh-doy! Why don’t we just make our own entrance?’ With that she began punching the Ark relentlessly.

                Thundercracker frowned. ‘We can’t punch through a spaceship, that’s impossib—wow, that’s a big dent. I mean, it’s impossible to punch through something this fortified, but I can’t imagine anyone being strong enough to cause _that!’_

                Obsidian spared Thundercracker a glance as he passed him by. ‘Strika _is_ an impossibility.’ Though his statement was more matter-of-fact than it was a playful observation.

                Reluctantly, Thundercracker joined Slipstream and Obsidian as they helped Strika punch through the Ark to little avail. Compared to Strika, they were a trio of weaklings. Thundercracker wished Starscream would hurry up with whatever he was doing.

\-----

                Prime’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Jazz? I haven’t seen you in a hundred years, how the frag are you?’

                Jazz shook his hand. ‘Been sleeping under an army of ‘Cons, sneaking past heavily guarded security systems, and risking my aft out there just to get by— but not bad considering how most of my Elite Guard reconnaissance missions turn out. Man it’s great to see you, Prime. I don’t think we’ve had the chance to speak once since the Academy.’

                ‘You know this guy?’ Rosanna and Blackarachnia said in unison. They stared at each other.

                ‘Yeah,’ Prime said. ‘Jazz here tutored me back when I was still a student at the academy. I was all kinds of horrible at everything, but thanks to him I somehow managed to pass.’

                Jazz waved his hands in front of his face bashfully. ‘You learned plenty yourself, I just gave you a small boost is all.’

                Blackarachnia stammered. ‘Good. Great. I appreciate the friendly mech-banter guys, I really do, but are we going to keep in mind the fact that there are dozens of Decepticons out there looking to kill us?’

                ‘He forgets sometimes.’ Rosanna told her. ‘He spends most of his days cracking bad jokes or dancing like he’s on the Velveteen Strips of Hedonia.’

                ‘Weird.’ Blackarachnia crinkled her nose at the thought. ‘“Dancing?”’

                ‘I’m positive he’s insane. No sane person would un-ironically dance in private.’

                Optimus ignored them. ‘How did you find us?’

                ‘I just followed the trail of crossbow bolts that started cropping up.’

                Blackarachnia jumped. ‘A-hah! My idea worked! Ironhide’s going to crap when he finds out who saved the day!’

                ‘Let’s not get too carried away,’ Optimus said to her, then turned to Jazz. ‘Our ship’s out of energy—I’m afraid we’re as stranded as you are.’

                ‘Yeah, I thought so,’ Jazz murmured, massaging his chin in thought. ‘I could see your ship warp out of the sky from all the way here. The energy consumption must’ve been colossal. Now if only we had the energy to restock it...’ Grinning, he walked away from the group and towards what looked like a musty old shelf. Parting the walls revealed a room containing a large cylinder of Energon taller than Optimus. Jazz spun around proudly. ‘Oh wait, thanks to ol’ Bludgeon’s unguarded Energon reservoir, we do!’

                Optimus clapped his hands together. ‘Jazz you beauty, do you think that would be enough to power the Ark?’

                He patted the casket. ‘It would be enough to last a single-bodied Cybertronian a decacycle. ‘Course an Ark might be a bigger fish to feed, but I’d be willing to bet it can get the sucker to fly.’

                ‘Alright.’ Optimus’s optics narrowed into slits. There had to have been a catch. Flying off in the Ark would be too easy. ‘So what’s the catch?’

                Jazz caught on, and began massaging the back of his neck. ‘Well, I’d be lying if I said there aren’t few roadblocks standing in our way. I’ve been spying on Bludgeon and his crew for a while now, and one of the biggest finds I’ve dug up is Bludgeon’s willingness to adapt.’ He pointed at the ceiling. ‘Bludgeon’s got a quarter of his troops manning his orbital railguns ever since he found out automatic weaponry won’t work on your special afts. What’s worse is that they’re facing _down_. If we try exiting the planet’s atmosphere then a whole lot of bad is going to rain down on top of us.’

                Prime’s brow creased. ‘And if we try to warp while still on-planet, the atmospheric pressure will tear the Ark apart. Dammit, we can’t leave unless we pass those guns—which we _can’t._ ’

                ‘Then we’re stranded here after all,’ Rosanna stated, as if she knew all along.

                There was a silence between the four. They had very few options left. Surrender was out of the question; Optimus would be executed immediately. Blackarachnia would probably be executed immediately, and there was no reason for the others to live. They couldn’t exit the planet, as the orbital railguns would shoot them down as soon as they were in view, and they couldn’t leave the city, as the borders were guarded by manned gun emplacements.

                Optimus spoke. ‘No. We can’t give up now. Not when we’ve come this far. What are our available options? There has to be _something_ we can do—ships! Are there any other ships we could use to pass them by?’

                ‘Any ship that’s landed with Bludgeon running the show– including my own – has been dismantled for spare parts. He’s been using whatever he can to rebuild the city in his own image,’ Jazz replied. ‘The only ones working are the Nemesis and the Tidal Wave, but both are heavily occupied and heavily damaged. Even if we did make some attempt to escape in one of them, Bludgeon’s got the city locked down. The railguns would shoot us up regardless of who’s on board.’

                Optimus considered Jazz’s mission. ‘What about Sentinel? You said he sent you here for reconnaissance? Is there any way to contact him for support?’

                Jazz shook his head. ‘If I could do that, I would’ve skipped out on this roadshow months ago. I was initially sent to investigate the disappearance of the Circle of Light, but when Bludgeon came I was left with little choice but to hide with my equipment scrapped and my ties to the outside cut. Sentinel kind of just assumed I was dead after that. He never did have much faith in the idea I would be able to survive alone in a Decepticon ruled state. I never had much faith in that fact myself.’

                Optimus brought a digit to his faceplate. No way to escape, and no way to call for help. The nearest outpost of which Prime could call for assistance is Elita’s Sanctuary, and even if they were to somehow make contact, Chromia did not have the firepower to break through Bludgeon’s defenses. They’d be slaughtered, and so would Optimus. A sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make. ‘Then we fight.’

                They stared at him. Blackarachnia shook her head. ‘No way, Prime. We _can’t_ fight off Bludgeon’s army. I’d barely feel confident fighting Bludgeon _alone_ for that matter _.’_

‘She’s got a point, Prime,’ Jazz said, holding up his pistols. They were in actuality a pair of rivet-guns, useless for combat. ‘Unlike you, the only weapons we’ve got are a grapple-hoo and a pair of nun-chucks I found in the sewer. Everything else was scrapped when Bludgeon plundered my ship for supplies.’

                ‘Do you have any better ideas?’ Optimus demanded. He was being rhetorical, but secretly he wished they did. ‘Bludgeon’s men found us once, they’ll surely find us again. We can’t stand idle forever.’

                ‘We’re only four soldiers!’ Blackarachnia stressed. ‘Bludgeon’s got fourty! Even in beast mode, I razed outposts through stealth, and guerilla tactics. Here, stealth is out the question—they know we’re here, and they’re ready to pull the trigger as soon as we line up in their sights.’

                ‘Maybe we don’t need stealth to lay an ambush,’ Jazz suggested. Optimus urged him to elucidate, and he nodded. ‘Some cons have been chatting about a rebellion. Apparently Bludgeon’s not the swell, charming guy people make him out to be.’

                Blackarachnia smirked. ‘Shocking.’

                ‘Maybe if we press some buttons, the rebels will do our work for us.’

                ‘You think we can actually rely on them that easily?’ Blackarachnia asked. ‘I mean, who’s to say our intervention won’t convince them to solidify their agreements with Bludgeon? Or, hell, who’s to say they won’t all try to kill us in one big wave of aggression?’

                Jazz didn’t have an answer for that. ‘I’m just suggesting— maybe it will only take knocking out Bludgeon to break his army apart. Catch them separated and we may be able to rile up enough in-fighting to make our escape.’               

                ‘This is assuming that infighting is enough to drag the railgun officers down here to add their own fuel to the fire,’ Optimus said.

                Jazz tilted his head. ‘We’ll dive into the details later. First, let’s slip over to your place. I get the feeling the Ark is a much better place to chill than this little hole in the ground.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Still, I’m going to miss this hole in the ground.’

                Rosanna frowned. ‘I’m not.’

                Optimus nodded to Jazz. ‘Agreed. I have Ironhide waiting outside. Let’s roll—‘

                As it turned out, Ironhide was not outside like Optimus thought, but was crashing through the ceiling of the burrow, and landing in a pile of rubble. Coughing and rolling on his back, the ornery Autobot was firing bursts of cannon fire where the ceiling used to be. Starscream dropped in, landing on top of Ironhide and swiping his buzz-saw across the Autobot’s face, leaving a thin outline dripping liquids down his chin.

                The Aerospace Commander turned to the others, baring his teeth. ‘Pardon me for _dropping in.’_ he laughed, followed by silence. ‘You know… because I—oh come on, I know it’s a cliché, but how often do you get to hear that in real life? Its classic!’

                Optimus raised his rifle and fired a shot at Starscream. The Aerospace Commander dodged it easily and took flight, swooping down and raining a barrage of missiles upon the Autobots. Dodging the fire, Optimus hollered to the others. ‘Ironhide! Grab the Energon canister. Jazz, take Rosanna and get to cover, Blackarachnia, tear him apart!’

                Blackarachnia’s face stretched into a sickly grin. ‘I love it when you tell me to do something I’m good at.’ She kicked off the rubble, ran up the side of a wall and dove blades-first at Starscream. The Aerospace Commander quickly transformed midair and grabbed her by the arms. Blackarachnia’s blades pierced into his armour, but the Commander only gritted his teeth and bit away the pain.

                The two grappled furiously and viciously, shooting and stabbing each other as they spun wildly through the air above the destroyed burrow. Blackarachnia considered transforming, but knew she needed to conserve Energy for the Ark’s sake. Besides, she could handle this. She thought so, at least.

                ‘I’m beginning to think not-killing you when I had the chance was a bad idea,’ Starscream wisped.

                ‘I’m beginning to think the same thing.’

                With one final stab, Blackarachnia sent Starscream torpedoing into the ground, and the two crashed through the dirt.

                Ironhide was in vehicle-mode, the large canister of Energon draped on top of his roof. ‘Prime, I’ve got it!’

                Optimus was in mid-transformation as he spoke. ‘Then move! Blackarachnia!’

                The spider jumped on top of Prime’s roof and slapped his caboose. ‘He’s too stupid to stay down forever. Drive!’

                Wheels screeched as Jazz, Ironhide, and Optimus drove out of the ruins of Jazz’s base. Starscream drunkenly rose from the rubble and dusted himself off. ‘Dammit, I can’t lose them again’ he mumbled as he took flight and chased the four Autobots down. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it.’


	49. Night Falls

                Tires grinded and roared as the three vehicles raged down the barren metal highway. Starscream’s shadow melted over them. He was capable of surpassing them flawlessly, and chasing them down proved to be of little effort. The jet danced across the sky, dropping missiles and cluster-bombs that ripped large blocks of road out of the ground surrounding them. Optimus learned from their last encounter that running was never enough to avoid Starscream’s onslaught. Back then he survived only by ducking into cover while Ironhide warded the jet away with his supplementary fire. Unfortunately, the Energon cannisters had blocked off Ironhide’s vehicular cannon, thus curtailing his ability to fight back. Starscream’s presence overwhelmed the trio of vehicles. Blackarachnia could do nothing from her position on top of Optimus, and Jazz couldn’t fight with Rosanna’s smaller form habituated in his cockpit. They had no choice but to run.

                Luckily, the city’s alleyways provided them with the cover they needed to avoid at least half of what Starscream dropped on them. Starscream crashed through skyscrapers and windows chasing them down; transforming momentarily to gather his bearings find a running start before taking to the skies once again. Once airborne, he would circle them like a predator eyeing its prey.

                ‘Where are we going?’ Blackarachnia asked hesitantly. She was clamping down hard on Prime’s “smokestacks” in order to maintain her balance atop the fast moving vehicle.

                ‘Back to the Ark,’ Optimus told her. ‘Where else would you suggest we go?’

                Blackarachnia’s expression twisted into a wry grimace. ‘Yeah, no, I get that. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we _not_ want to lead Starscream back to the place we call our home?’

                ‘We’ll be gone as soon as the Ark’s tank is loaded. Trust me, we’ll be much safer there than anywhere else in this city.’

                Ironhide pulled up alongside them. ‘How about instead of analyzing our dignity by running away, we turn ourselves around and take the fight to that Decepti-chop? Us three took him down before, we can sure as hell do it again with four.’

                ‘I can _hear_ you, Autobots.’ Starscream crowed from above, swooping down to get his shots in before retreating once again. ‘Yes, yes, I know I’ve lost my temper in the past, but I of all people know how to learn from their mistakes. Now we both know I’m untouchable on my own domain, so unless one of you pulls a pair of wings out of your ass and learns how to fly in the next five seconds, I’m afraid you’re _not_ going to have much luck degrading me a second time.’

                ‘That answer your question?’ Optimus asked.

                Ironhide growled. ‘I swear I’d shoot his face off if I didn’t have this damn Energon canister to worry about. I can still see that ugly grin…’ His speech devolved into a series of low mutterings and curses.

                ‘We’re almost home-free, just a few more blocks and we can hole ourselves into the Ark where it’s safe.’

                ‘That ought to tip the scales a bit,’ Jazz said optimistically.

                Optimus wasn’t sure how to break it to him. ‘A bit, yes. The Ark had its weaponry destroyed when we first made planet fall. No amount of Energon is going to fix that.’

                ‘Oh,’ Jazz said. ‘Well, so much for looking on the bright side of things.’

                ‘Don’t apologize. We’re going to need all the morale we can get.’

\-----

                ‘Okay. CLEAR!’

                Strika fired a payload of missiles and machine-gun fire from her tank-mode. The wave of destruction hit the Ark, leaving several large dents and singe-marks, but no noticeable change or warping in the ship’s outer plating.

                Thundercracker shielded the sun from his optics. ‘Yeah, this isn’t working.’

                ‘Damn.’ Strika transformed back into her robot mode and paced. ‘Come on, team, put your heads together—what haven’t we tried?’ She counted on her fingers. ‘We shot it, punched it, chucked Slipstream into it…’

                ‘My genius brain has never been so neglected,’ Slipstream said, clutching her helm in pain.

                Strika persisted to demand answers faster than the others were capable of giving her any. ‘How the frag are we supposed to get into this thing? Is there even an inside to this ship? Does Optimus ride on top of it with a little remote control to fly it around or what?’

                Obsidian said, ‘In my experience, it tends to take one warship to destroy another warship.’

                Thundercracker nodded. ‘Alright. Then we jet back to the Citadel, grab the Nemesis, and bring it here to do the job for us.’

                ‘If it has the energy left to do so, yes, that’s what we’ll so,’ Strika mused proudly. ‘Using the Nemesis to break open the shell and snatch the goodies inside… Sometimes I impress myself.’

                ‘But I was the one that…’ Thundercracker quietly shut himself up, realizing that he’d have no say in the matter of who came up with what.

                Strika surveyed the area surrounding the Ark, as if keeping an eye out for anyone who might have been eavesdropping from the shadows. ‘But I think we’re going to need someone to stay behind in case any undesirables come looking for trouble.’

                Thundercracker stepped forward almost immediately. ‘Good idea. Slipstream and I will hold the fort while you two grab our warship of mass destruction.’

                Strika and Obsidian exchanged glances and laughed.

                ‘What’s so funny?’

                ‘No offense,’ Strika said. ‘But do you really think you two would be capable of fighting off Prime and his crew of misfits alone?’

                ‘Why not? No really, why is that so difficult to grasp? I’m a Seeker. I’ve been in Starscream’s inner circle longer than anyone. I’m arguably the most capable Seeker beneath him.’

                ‘That’s because we killed all the other Seekers,’ Strika reminded him. ‘Starscream, Obsidian and I, remember? Well, technically Acid Storm and his cronies are still around somewhere—and Slipstream’s with us—and Skywarp’s only half dead. But being the second best Seeker isn’t all that great when it also means you’re simultaneously third or fourth from the bottom.’

                Slipstream cackled. ‘Thundercracker is worse than dirt after all. I guess we all knew it deep down. Now he’s the second best type of dirt in a world made out of dirt of only two kinds. Of dirt, I mean.’ Her nonsense was evidently perpetual. She bobbed up and down next to the blue Seeker. ‘How’s it feel to be that kind of dirt. Also what kind of dirt are you? Hopefully not whichever one “earth” is. Or is earth and dirt the same thing? Whoa. Mind blown.’

                 Thundercracker was in no mood to argue, he only showed them his palms and backed away. ‘Alright. Fine. If you want to be the ones to guard the Ark, then Slipstream and I will go fetch the Nemesis.’

                Slipstream pouted. ‘Why do I have to go?’

                Thundercracker grinned sardonically. ‘Because we’re team “awesome”, remember?’ In reality he just wanted someone else to suffer the trek back with him.

                ‘Okay, first of all, it’s team “cool-dudes”, second of all, a delicate flower like me just simply could not persevere through a journey such as this, so personally, I’d rather break off our team and do a three-way with Obsidian and Strika.’ Realizing what she had said, Slipstream immediately covered her face.

                ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ Thundercracker prepared to transform.

                ‘Wait,’ Obsidian commanded. He had one digit pressing against his audio receptor and the other halting Thundercracker.

                ‘What is it?’

                ‘Listen.’

                Thundercracker listened. In the distance he could hear a shrill voice. It was repeating something, over and over. ‘What is that?’

                As soon as he asked, the voice became clear.

                ‘It’s coming from…’ Obsidian pointed, then wilted.

                Three vehicles were closing in on the Ark. Behind them was Starscream, zooming after them in jet-mode. He shrieked, ‘Shootthemshootthemshootthemshootthemshootthem!’

                ‘Oh crap!’ Strika tried to fire a rocket, only for a loud click to take its place. ‘What?’

                ‘We used all our weaponry on the Ark, remember?’

                Strika started slapping herself. ‘Of course! Why are we considered military geniuses of the Decepticons if we act so stupid?’

                ‘Turns out, like Thundercracker, Decepticon standards are very low.’ Slipstream mumbled.

                ‘Fortunately, _I_ haven’t wasted all my ammunition,’ Obsidian said proudly, as if there couldn’t have been anyone else to have considered not wasting their ammo on a derelict ship.

                ‘Do you still want me to bring the Nemesis, or should I stay and fight?’

                Obsidian waved him off. ‘Yes, go. Quickly! We’ll handle things here.’

                Thundercracker nodded, and jetted off. Slipstream soon followed him from behind, desperately trying to keep up.

                Strika and Obsidian maintained their positions. Obsidian barked an order to Strika, and the lumbering femme marched forward. Obsidian proceeded to fire a volley of missiles from behind that sent the Autobots swerving and scattering about, leaving them separated and disoriented.

                Ironhide managed to regain his balance and transform. In robot mode, he gently placed the canister off to the side where it would be out of danger. When he turned around, only to be tackled a few yards back by Strika. The much larger Decepticon sprinted at him as soon as he tried to gather his bearings, but when she did make contact with him, he was ready. The two locked hands with each-other, each one trying to overcome the other’s strength.

                Being the taller and stronger of the two, Strika quickly gained the upper hand, grinning and laughing triumphantly as she slowly overcame the smaller Autobot.

                Ironhide felt his feet digging into the ground as Strika pushed down. He huffed. ‘Prime! I can handle this—get to the Ark!’

                But Optimus was busy. As soon as he transformed, Starscream had landed in front of him.

                ‘You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.’ Starscream activated his buzz-saw and swung it towards the Prime.

                Optimus managed a back-flip before landing into a crouch a few yards away from the Aerospace Commander. He activated his axe, and charged, swinging and slicing at whatever he could make contact with. Blackarachnia glided in from behind, stabbing at Starscream’s ankles. Starscream let out a roar, and spun around, grabbing Optimus by the wrist and throwing him a yard into Blackarachnia.

                ‘I can handle this!’ Optimus told her as he gathered himself.

                ‘Really? Because from my perspective you’re getting absolutely wrecked.’

                ‘Just get to the Ark. That’s what’s important.’

                Blackarachnia sighed, looked around at the battle unfolding, and sprinted towards the canister.

                Optimus spun around and brought his axe down upon Starscream, only for the Seeker to smugly catch the blow, and pull, swinging Optimus over his head and across the street. Starscream proceeded to fire a cluster of missiles from his chest, sending the torched form of Optimus flying out of the rubble, and back into his grasp. ‘Bad move,’ Starscream whispered into his audio-receptor before hammering him into the ground.

                Jazz narrowly dodged Obsidian’s missiles, sideways somersaulting through the air before transforming into his car mode and accelerating back towards the strategist. Before Obsidian could reload, Jazz landed upon him, getting in a few punches and kicks that left dents across the strategist’s frame. Obsidian snarled in disgust. ‘Don’t touch me, Autobot!’

                ‘That’s kind of what happens when you get in a fight, dig?’

                Obsidian grabbed Jazz by the wrist and twisted, causing the Elite Guardsman to yell out in pain. ‘I do not enjoy being touched by the likes of you,’ the strategist hissed. ‘Or by anyone for that matter. But, I am still a lot bigger, and a lot stronger than you, Autobot.’ With that, he twisted Jazz’s arm sideways, lifted him above his head, and swung him into the side of the Ark. Before he could get up, Obsidian fired a calculated shot into Jazz’s leg, hindering him from getting up to fight back. Obsidian cracked a grin as he hovered over the Autobot. He grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him up into the light. ‘This is what happens when you challenge the greatest military generals in Cybertronian history.’

                Meanwhile, any hit Optimus got off on Starscream was countered by eight more. The Seeker tossed Optimus around like he were a ragdoll, slicing his buzz saw through his armour; twisting and cracking his limbs back the ways they weren’t supposed to go, and firing shots from his shoulder cannons to prevent Optimus from getting too far. He tossed Optimus into the air, only for him to land back down on his spinning buzz-saw, tearing into the Prime’s spinal strut. ‘Come on, Prime, where’s the machismo? Where’s the good old fighting spirit?’ He threw him back into the ground and activated his null ray. ‘Well, if that’s all you’ve got, then I might as well claim my prize. Adieu!’

                But before he could pull the trigger, Blackarachnia came crawling back, slamming into Starscream with all her force and pinning him to the ground with her stalks.

                Optimus rolled over, grumbling. ‘I told you to—‘

                ‘Yeah, yeah. I got the Ark all fueled up and ready to go. Now don’t you start complaining! If I left you for another second you’d be scrap!’

                ‘Whatever, I’m not going to argue about this.’ He stood up and twirled his axe. ‘Can you hold him there long?’

                ‘I think I migh—‘

                But Starscream was quick to transform, jetting into the sky and tossing Blackarachnia into a wall from the blast of his thrusters. He made a crescent in the sky before nosediving back towards them, firing his missiles at the two in a rage. This time they were ready, and dodged for cover. Any stray shots that came near them was deflected with their weapons and sent whizzing into the crumbling sky-scrapers, sending some toppling over. Behind them, the Ark lurched. The docking bay doors were lowering down.

                Ironhide and Strika continued their grapple. The latter sneered. ‘You’re stronger than the average Autobot, I’ll give you that. But there is literally no one stronger than me.’

                Ironhide grimaced, he believed her. ‘Yeah, well…’ He activated his cannons and fired a shot from each into her shoulders.

                She flinched, and backed away, patting out the fires sprung on her armour. She glared at the perpetrator, fingers groping the air in anticipation of strangling the life out of him. ‘You’re going to wish you hadn’t done tha—‘

                But the General’s sentence was ended prematurely, as the Ark’s giant docking bay doors landed on top of her. Clamping her to the ground.

                Obsidian gawked at the turn of events, more or less to the fact that his consort went down so quickly than the fact that the Ark was seemingly activating on its own. ‘Strika?!’

                Catching him distracted, Jazz delivered a kick to Obsidian’s torso, separating him from the Decepticon. Landing on the ground, Jazz transformed and circled back around and into the Ark’s docking bay. ‘Come on!’ He shouted to the others. ‘We’re home free!’

                Ironhide bounded inside, only momentarily looking back to spot Optimus and Blackarachnia. They were still squabbling with Starscream. ‘Prime! Let’s go!’ He ducked inside as Obsidian unleashed a flurry of missiles at the two.

                Optimus and Blackarachnia exchanged looks before sprinting towards the entrance to the Ark.

                ‘If you’re out here…’ Optimus said.

                Blackarachnia finished. ‘Then who the _heck_ is in there?’

                They realized simultaneously. She had been absent during the whole battle. ‘Rosanna.’

                They hopped in and signalled Ironhide and Jazz to close the bay doors. A few of Starscream and Obsidian’s missiles slipped inside, blowing apart some machinery and starting some small fires, but in time the Ark was sealed tight and on the defensive. Optimus activated his comm-link. ‘Rosanna, take us up.’

                _‘To where?’_

He looked to Jazz, gesturing to him as if to ask if he had any ideas.

Jazz replied, ‘There’s a safe altitude between the firing ranges of both the city’s turrets and the orbital railguns. We will be too low to be fired upon, and too high for anyone to spot us from the ground. We’ll be safe there.’

                _‘If you say so.’_

_\-----_

The Ark blasted off, leaving a trail of flames and vapour that torched the ground beneath them.

                ‘Not so fast!’ Starscream shrieked before flying after them. The light from his thrusters disappeared with him and the Ark beyond the clouds blanketing the sky above.

                Obsidian hovered over Strika’s flattened body. ‘Get up.’

                ‘Okay.’ Strika sat up and out of her large, Strika shaped crater in the ground.

                ‘We lost.’

                ‘Thanks, captain obvious.’

                After a couple of minutes, the Nemesis hovered over, running on fumes. It landed awkwardly, making a loud scraping sound against the ground as it did. Thundercracker appeared from the entrance ramp, jogging over to the two wearing a blank expression. ‘Sorry that took so long. Slipstream was messing around with the controls.’ He scanned the area. ‘I guess we probably should have stayed to fight.’

                ‘Yeah,’ Strika agreed.

                They both flinched, and slowly turned to Obsidian. If losing at cards warranted one of Obsidian’s rare outrages, then surely a misstep such as this would have been considered apocalyptic. But it never came. Obsidian stared right back at them, servos brushing the dust and debris from his usually spotless body armour. ‘We’ll wait for Starscream.’

                Thundercracker was startled and confused. Strika showed signs of skepticism in Obsidian’s behaviour but soon disregarded it as nothing more than unusual. Slipstream kept on gauding him into losing his temper again, but not even she could crack him. Obsidian had either learned how to calm his nerves, or had viewed this failure as a success in some odd, counterproductive way.

                Thundercracker deduced that Obsidian’s appearance wasn’t the only thing that was odd about him. But he had more than enough evidence to prove that already.

\-----

                Starscream fired whatever ammunition he had left. Which was not a lot. He had taken down warships in the past. An Ark may have proven to be troublesome, but he was certain he could do it. He fired and fired, and though the Ark had taken enough damage to wobble, but it had yet to fall.

                A voice contacted him via intercom. _‘Starscream, pull out.’_

‘Why should I? Who is this?’

                _‘This is Soundwave.’_

‘Soundw— what? How are you even contacting me right now? Shouldn’t you be on the other side of the Galaxy?’

                _‘I was Megatron’s head of communications for four-millennia. You work it out.’_

                ‘You’re good at your job. Fine. Tell me why I shouldn’t pursue the Ark.’

                ‘Very well…’

                And Soundwave told him. And Starscream listened. And In time, Starscream began to understand.

                ‘Oh. Oh. I see. You’d better be right.’

_‘I am right.’_

                ‘Well aren’t you mister confident.’

_‘Get back to your team, Starscream.’_

Starscream made an arc in the sky with his vapour trail and flew off in the opposite direction, wondering if he was taking a leap of faith, or a leap of stupidity in trusting Soundwave. Perhaps both.

\-----

                Optimus twirled his laser-scalpel between his fingers as he began operating on Jazz. He was the worst off of the bunch. Next to him, of course.

                Blackarachnia fell into a seat across from the medical berth, exhaling and with her limbs splayed apart in relaxation. ‘Gotta hand it to you, Doc-Boss. I wasn’t expecting to make it out of that one with all my legs attached.’

                ‘We’re not out of the woods yet,’ Optimus muttered as he repaired Jazz’s leg. ‘We still need to take down Bludgeon.’

                Ironhide folded his arms and growled. ‘I’ve got a box full of weaponry that only I can use. That should be enough if Bludgeon’s relegating himself to using a sword.’

                ‘He turns into a tank, Hide,’ Jazz spoke up. ‘I think he knows how to shoot.’

                Optimus glanced in Ironhide’s direction briefly. ‘Oh yeah, Ironhide, Jazz is with us now. You guys met.’

                Ironhide made a curt nod in the elite guardsman’s direction, then broke off eye-contact to sharpen his knives.

                ‘Don’t feel bad,’ Optimus said to Jazz, moving on to repair his arms. ‘It’s just his tough-guy routine. He’s happy to see you, honest.’

                ‘I’m sure he is.’ Jazz shrugged.

                ‘Speaking of which...’ Optimus remembered. ‘While it’s a temporary shift in personnel, and since Team Prime is still _technically_ an army, I’m going to have to officiate some kind of chain of command.’ And with a wave of Prime’s invisible wand, Jazz, being second to Sentinel for many years, became Lieutenant General, Ironhide Brigadier General, and Blackarachnia a Lieutenant. ‘We’re good? We’re good.’

                ‘I appreciate it, Prime,’ Jazz said, quietly. ‘But I get the feeling I’ve already been replaced by someone else in Sentinel’s—YOWCH!’

                Optimus had hovered his laser-scalpel over a sensitive part for too long. ‘Oi, we’ll contact Sentinel as soon as we’re out of Bludgeon’s airspace. He’ll get you reacquainted.’

                Jazz smiled queerly. Like he was being rewarded with a gift he never wanted in the first place.

                Blackarachnia sighed, ‘That’s assuming we’ll survive this long enough to get out of his airspace at all.’

                Ironhide gruffed, ‘Don’t sell us so short. Prime and I’ve survived a lot; we’ll survive this too. I’ll beat down Bludgeon with my bare hands if the situation calls for it.’

                Blackarachnia raised a skeptical brow. ‘You? You against Bludgeon?’ She laughed.

                Ironhide growled. ‘You think I can’t? I’ve punched guys twice his size!’

                ‘Hey, I didn’t say anything like that. But no. I don’t think you can. In fact I’m pretty sure Bludgeon would eat you alive.’

                ‘You take every chance to rate a Decepticon higher than me, don’t you?’

                ‘Yes. Yes I do. It keeps both of us alive.’

                ‘At least one of us isn’t going to stay alive for much longer if you keep up that attitude.’

                ‘You’re right! If I keep pointing out the truth, you’ll do something stupid and I’ll be forced to put you down.’

                ‘Umm.’ Jazz patted Prime’s shoulder as he sat up on the berth. ‘Y’think we should, y’know, stop them?’

                Optimus stared at him, waiting for the punchline. ‘Oh, you’re serious?’

                ‘Are you?’

                ‘Trust me, it’s best to leave them to it. You try close-lining them and they end they’ll just team up on you. Naturally it makes for some great team-building exercises but at the cost of your own self-esteem.’

                Jazz frowned. ‘Close-lining?’

                Optimus frowned back at him. ‘Yeah. How else do you break two people apart?’

                ‘I dunno. Something that has to do with using your words’

                ‘With my—’ Optimus cocked his head to the side. ‘I don’t understand.’

                ‘Lemme put it this way, did you ever ask them _not_ to fight? Not even through song?’

                ‘Did I--? What?’

                Jazz shook his head. ‘Never mind, chief, I reckon you’ve got everything under control.’

                Optimus shrugged, then looked to the pair of arguing bots. ‘I wouldn’t worry about them. Trust me—they’re secretly best friends.’

                The doors parted open, and Rosanna entered the room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the row between Blackarachnia and Ironhide. ‘What’s their problem? Eh. Never mind.’ She turned to Optimus. ‘So do you guys have a plan to rescue me yet or what?’

                ‘I do,’ Optimus said, leaning over the medical berth. ‘But there won’t be any second chances. If it fails, we’re dead.’

                Rosanna shivered. ‘That’s reassuring…’

                ‘What’s the brief, chief?’ Jazz asked.

                He clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…’

\-----

                Bludgeon sat cross-legged in the street. Hands clasped beneath his chin with his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

                ‘Lord Bludgeon!’ Krok jogged over to the sitting Decepticon. ‘What are you doing in the middle of the road?’

                ‘Waiting.’

                Krok massaged the side of his head. ‘For what?’

                Slowly, Bludgeon stood. ‘For Optimus. I don’t think he’ll be hiding for much longer. He knows he can’t survive in his position. Not for long. I expect to see him any minute now.’

                Krok nodded. ‘Stratatonic detected his ship taking flight outside of our offensive radius. Depending on his on-board Energon, it will only be a matter of time before he is forced to land again.’

                Bludgeon turned around. ‘Then when he does, be sure to have Wingspan – or anyone for that matter – take stock on them. Our final confrontation with Optimus is upon us. Notify the others. I’ve been told that Optimus will be making his move soon.’

                ‘Understood.’ Krok turned to leave, stopped, and stared incredulously at the Decepticon leader. ‘Wait, you were told by whom?’

                ‘The Dark Gods themselves.’

                Krok stared. ‘Oh.’

\-----

                Night fell.

                Across the Crystal City, Decepticons took over shifts, and went into stasis.

                Gutcruncher sat at his desk, counting coins, and calculating the price of discarded limbs scattered from the aftermath of the battle of Kiaulune.

                Banzaitron sat relaxing in his personal EZ-Throne. Hands behind his head and optics shut, confident with himself and his abilities for the upcoming rebellion.

                Krok stood at his post, monitoring supposed Autobot comm frequencies cropping up a solar-system away.

                Cannonball sat cross-legged in the Tidal-Wave, barking at Razor-Sharp to call off further repairs so he could finally habituate his ship again.

                Starscream landed next to the Nemesis. Walking past his friends and down the violet metal halls, taking a moment to enter a portal leading to his past.

                Deep inside, they knew their struggles in the matter would come to a close, and that by morning, the Crystal City’s fate would be decided.


	50. Zero-sum Game Part I

            A wide field of metal stretched out before them, ending at the unattended border, followed by another stretch of desert that paled from orange, to grey, to white as it met the bloody sun-lit horizon. Starscream and Obsidian’s silhouettes marked the plain a distance away from the other aligning Decepticons, acknowledging each-other, but never making eye-contact. The Decepticons had picked up a signal. Optimus was making his move. One Autobot signal was reported descending from the sky a few Cybertronian hours beyond nightfall, though there was possibility of there being more. The signal was difficult to pick up indefinitely, but it was located in a sector nearing the borders, which could make their search a lot more dangerous should it take to the endless desert surrounding the city. Cannonball had his ship hovering in the sky above, spying down on the grounded conglomerates of Bludgeon’s army, trying to make out any suspicious activity pointing towards the Autobots and their machinations. Obsidian designed the formation that followed: an inner ring circled the sector where most of Bludgeon, Krok, Banzaitron, and Gutcruncher’s army stood. An outer ring of troops lay hidden in the buildings, preparing to snipe at anything wearing an Autobot insignia. These had been made up of mostly Cannonball’s reserve troops save for Axer who chose to participate in the inner circle alongside Banzaitron and Treadshot. No one could really discern why—most figured he made a wrong turn at some point along the way and ended up associating himself with the wrong crowd by mistake. While Starscream and Obsidian were required, they weren’t particularly wanted, and so the two were left alone to work out their own ideas.

            ‘Why did you pull out?’ Obsidian finally took the opportunity to ask. ‘You could have maintained your assault—wore them down until what little energy they had was depleted; effectively eliminating what was left.’

            ‘Soundwave.’ Starscream spoke the name as if it were analogous to feces. ‘That weasel provided me with a better offer.’

            ‘A better offer than Leadership of the Decepticons?’

            ‘Did I say that? No? Then shut up.’

            Obsidian bowed his head briefly as in to say: “okay then.” In turn, Starscream brought a finger to the bridge of his nose, heaving a sigh before making his case. ‘Let’s say he “supplied me” with a safety-net in case my plan fails. A means of killing Prime that makes the Prisoner, the Serial Code, and all of this… ninja- crap meaningless.’ He grimaced sickeningly. He was agreeing with Soundwave. The thought of being anything like that monosyllabic bureaucrat disgusted him. Damn process of maturity. The old Starscream would never admit someone as degenerate as Soundwave to be farther in the right than him. Part of him wished he never became as thoughtful as he did. Which, upon further analysis, was clearly a thoughtless observation. He knew that had he never learned how to be open to alien ideas, he’d never have survived past Talon. ‘Shooting them down would have been a mistake,’ he explained. ‘The only reason Prime had a successful landing in the first place was because no one expected him to have the ball-bearings to do it. If he were to control his landing now, who do you think would get to him first?’

            ‘Bludgeon,’ Obsidian answered. ‘His agents practically blanketed the city. At least at the time of their escape, they did.’  
            Starscream nodded, then paused to add: ‘So did Banzaitron’s. And Gutcruncher’s, too.’

            Obsidian raised a non-existent eye-brow. ‘What are you so non-subtly suggesting to me now?’

            Starscream shot him a shrewd look. ‘Alliance or no, I do not want them to win.’ He leaned over, and spoke to Obsidian like a caretaker speaking to a disabled empty. ‘Because if they win, that means I don’t win, and if I don’t win, I would be very sad.’

            ‘Indeed.’ He paused. ‘Then what exactly did Soundwave propose?’

            Starscream frowned at him.

            Obsidian had anticipated this. ‘You _are_ going to tell me, aren’t you? You’re not just trying to be mysterious for the sake of being mysterious… no? Because I’ve seen Nemesis-loads of Generals crash and burn because of some cognitive paranoia that if anyone knows their plans, _everyone_ will.’

            ‘No… No. I’m not telling you anything because I think being mysterious is “cool.” That’s always been a very Soundwave-y character trait. The reason I’m not telling you anything is because you’ve been – quite obviously, actually – up to something shady on my ship. Especially whenever I’m not looking, and I just can’t rely on someone as… sophisticated as you to follow through with my plans if that’s how you’re going to play me.’ As if it were as simple as an afterthought, he added: ‘Also, I’ve decided I’m going to kill you as a result.’

            Obsidian sighed slowly like an aged piece of manufacturing equipment. The effort was almost painful for the strategist. ‘Now that, Starscream, is the kind of thing you _should_ keep from your subordinates. Open threats to the people have a history of spurring rebellions.’

            ‘Is that supposed to be some kind of thinly-veiled threat?’

            ‘Is that supposed to be some kind of ironic joke?’

            Starscream grinned. Obsidian allowed himself to as well, though it would have been impossible to tell.

            ‘Unless you prove to me you’re actually loyal, and whatever you’re up to is something trivial like cheating on Strika or taking narcotics or something ludicrously boring like that, then I can’t say I won’t be living up to my promise.’

            The thought made Obsidian’s fuel-pump writhe with grease. As someone who loathed disloyalty, the idea of him doing anything disloyal to anyone with power equal or higher to his own made him squirm. Of course, there was a difference between actively betraying someone and keeping them in the dark for their own good. And both Starscream and Obsidian were masters in the art of selective story-telling.

            ‘Listen, Starscream. I’ll just be straight with you, because I can’t imagine this conversation benefitting us any other way. I’m not going to tell you what I have going on. I can’t; not if we want to maintain a healthy partnership. It is related to the war, and essentially the command structure of the Decepticon guilds, but it has nothing to do with you, or your mission to find and destroy Optimus Prime. You do that, and I will support you until the end of time.’ _Or until someone better comes along to kill you._ ‘But at the moment I have my own personal projects to take care of; concurrently with my official mission to help you locate Prime.’

            ‘Not good enough. Give me more.’

            ‘Its research. I’ve been researching certain documents that I am _legally_ allowed to view and study for my own personal interests. I have also communicated and shared documented information with others equally interested in what they have to say.’

            ‘What sort of documents?’

            ‘Past Decepticon leaderships. Dead empires. Classified and “deleted” histories of certain truths and untruths in the annals and wills of the Empire’s history. Soundwave doesn’t like me looking at them. He’s afraid I might leak censored information to the wrong kinds of people.’ He paused. ‘Have you ever noticed? From those recordings of him that are always played on the air I mean—he’s become unhealthily paranoid as of late.’

            Starscream squinted at him. They both knew Obsidian was telling the truth. Not the whole truth, obviously, but he was presented with no visible lies of which to attack Obsidian with. The old-as-sin strategist talked a big game, but while they were both too stubborn to ever say it, they needed each other. Without Obsidian’s advice he would never have reached as far as he had, and without Starscream’s connections to the Nemesis, Obsidian would have never had what he needed to bring himself closer to his own personal goal. Even if whatever relationship they had was built out of two separate pillars of trust and mistrust, the whole structure would collapse if either one was removed.

            ‘Then don’t let it get in the way of the mission,’ Starscream muttered, temporarily ending the conversation before it dragged on longer than it should have. He was not about to talk circles around the strategist as their discussion would inevitably lead to. ‘Consider our advantage. If what everyone says is going to happen actually happens, then I want to focus our assault almost entirely on Bludgeon. Specifically to prevent him from reaching Prime.’ He raised a digit, as if he were giving a light scolding to a younger student. ‘Treat everyone whose name isn’t Starscream, Thundercracker, Strika, or Slipstream as an enemy—well, you can shoot Thundercracker if you want, but you get the idea. We can’t let anyone in our alliance kill Prime either. We either win or we lose. There can be no almosts or maybes.’

            Obsidian’s wiry tongue licked his metal gums. No answers, but he wouldn’t need them. ‘Understood, Lord Starscream.’

            He snorted. ‘That’s it?’

            ‘That’s what?’

            ‘No “Starscream you idiot”? No “never mind that and listen to MY awesome plan”? No disappointed headshakes or in-depth analysis of my own stupid ideas?’

            Obsidian blinked, then shrugged. ‘Evidentially not.’

            Starscream sagged slightly. ‘Then obviously I’ve either done the impossible and came up with something right for a change. Or, I’ve finally gone insane listening to your know-it-all attitude and have started to assimilate into your parasitic mind-set.’ He made a spooky gesture. ‘We are one and the saaame… like brothers—only closerrr…! We only had to assimilaaate!’

            ‘It’s called making an educated decision, Starscream.’ Obsidian drawled slyly. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

            Starscream snarled and elbowed the strategist lightly, a shred of intended pain away from friendlily, in the rib.

            In minutes, Strika reported via intercom. _‘Starscream, Obsidian. While you were making out, Bludgeon’s sky-guys located one of Prime’s people.’_

            Starscream spat, ‘We weren’t making out!’ He looked to Obsidian, and began examining his mandible-jaw skeptically. ‘How would you even do that, where would you even—

            ‘Like what you see?’ Obsidian sneered.

            He turned back to Strika, scowling. ‘Whatever, who did they find?’

            _‘Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He was there when we got our asses handed to us by them, though. He’s the one that wasn’t Prime. Or the… er, other two.’_

            ‘My, well isn’t that illuminating.’ He snapped his fingers at Obsidian, indicating to him to get a move on before transforming into jet-mode and blasting off into the sky. ‘We’re on our way, what is Bludgeon doing about it?’

            _‘Nothing. The Autobot is waving the white-flag.’_

            ‘Literally? Where did he get one of those?’

            _‘It’s a metaphor, dude. Of course he didn’t show up with an actual fragging white flag.’_

            ‘Get off my back. Has he said anything yet?’

_‘Just that he wants to have some words with Bludgeon. The boss-samurai thinks he’s the blip Wingspan reported about.’_

            ‘Blip?’

            ‘ _The air-dropped Autobot from last night.’_

            ‘Oh. I knew that. I knew that all along. Sounds kind of like a trap, though, doesn’t it?’

            _‘So? Bludgeon hasn’t killed him yet so I assume he wants to listen. He’s in our custody right now. Sort of. It’s more like he’s been herded into a big circle of guns at the city’s border.’_

            ‘So that’s what that is…’ Aside from the Tidal Wave’s shadow blanketing the land, the surest sign of life was the circle of soldiers bustling around below. ‘I can see it from here. We’ll continue this conversation in person.’

            _‘Over and out.’_

\-----

            Jazz had been in worse predicaments. Surrounded by dozens of Decepticons wasn’t his idea, but he trusted Prime’s plan. Granted, he didn’t have any better plans to trust in, so it was something closer to “having faith” than trusting it to work, but he was confident. More or less. He spotted the Decepticons Prime told him about; they were hovering near the back of the circle’s circumference. Slipstream – having “googled” the surrendering Autobot – was rambling to Thundercracker about what names Jazz’s family must have, figuring he had a twin brother named “Blues”, and an evil clone named “Country”. Thundercracker was so unamused he had fixated his expression into a frown that Jazz couldn’t imagine being impermanent. Behind them were the real threats. Obsidian, Starscream, and Strika. Obsidian, the strategist whom he clashed with a night ago, presented the figure of a creature he had never seen before. Strika was massive, easily the biggest Cybertronian in the crowd if not the biggest humanoid Decepticon in history. She towered over the others like a looming, watchful golem. The famous couple were just as monstrous and intimidating as their reputations let on, almost unbelievably so. Then there was Starscream. Possibly the second most famous Decepticon of all time, the “coward” looked nothing of the sort. His posture seeped heavy gallons of pride, but his eyes told a different story. Behind the sun-orange tint of his optical glow, Jazz found nothing but darkness.

            Why Starscream’s brigade interested him so, the Elite-Guardsman couldn’t put his finger on. There were plenty of other famous Decepticons present, but they all seemed… stale. Bludgeon took the lead of the pack, with Krok his favored Lieutenant. There wasn’t much reason for Krok’s position, other than him apparently being a loyal, and effective strategist. His file sported little experience otherwise. Bludgeon’s skull mask and general appearance was obviously meant for show, but unlike the natural glamour Starscream’s possessed, Bludgeon looked more like he was wearing some elaborate Halloween costume to accentuate his power rather than actually being this skeletal warrior. His language, his mannerisms—they all felt very artificial. It was clear Bludgeon was someone pretending to be something he was not. He didn’t seem to care about any of it. His victory. Jazz. The generals under his command. They were all pawns to further his goal. Naturally that was the case for all Decepticon leaders, but in most cases, they sported some kind of opinion over their status. Anger, stress, sadism, more-often-than-not: paranoia; Bludgeon sported none of these. He was a well-oiled machine with a fancy image projected on its label for attention.

            Jazz maintained his cocky grin. Hands raised above his head for all to see. He didn’t look a threat, but he sure acted like he had something up his sleeve, and by all means he did.

            ‘What is your name?’ The skeletal figure demanded.

            ‘It’s Jazz,’ he announced playfully. ‘Don’t go getting embarrassed if you forget it the first time around. I’ve got all the time in the world if you feel like getting to know me better.’

            ‘You’re serious?’ Bludgeon took a moment to roll the idea around in his head. ‘Why in the pit would you name yourself after a music genre? Let alone “jazz?”’

            ‘If you really want to know, it’s because Rock, Hip-Hop, Metal, and Rap were already taken.’

            Bludgeon laughed. Others quickly joined him out of either fear or as a method of acceptance from their leader, but most remained silent— not finding it suitable to laugh at such a joke under the circumstances. Bludgeon began shaking his head. ‘I hate music. Pointless.’

            Jazz shrugged. ‘I respect your opinion, man.’

            Bludgeon leaned forward, resting his chin against the hilt of his blade. ‘You are frighteningly calm. Almost… supernaturally so.’

            ‘Yeah? Well, why shouldn’t I be?’

            ‘The list goes on…’ He pulled away, turning his back to the Autobot. ‘You were allied with the Prime?’

            ‘Yeah, since about...’ he began counting numbers off his raised finger-tips, ‘yesterday.’

            ‘Yesterday?’ He whirled around, optics glowing out from the sockets of his skull-mask. ‘You mean you weren’t a part of his landing party?’

            Jazz could almost see his mouth moving beneath his beard of wires. If it weren’t his imagination, Bludgeon seemed to be mouthing: _How, how, how._ Over and again to himself. Jazz’s grin wouldn’t flicker for an instant. ‘Man, I’ve been here since before old bucket head kicked the bucket…’ he paused, ‘head.’

            ‘Megatron…’ Bludgeon snarled. He did not mourn his late rival’s death and never would for as long as he lived. ‘You’re telling me that you’ve managed to hide yourself here for that long?’ _How, how, how._

            ‘I use to roll as a Cyber Ninja ‘til duty called. Trained under an old wise cat named Yoketron. When I got the just of some big conspiracy making him and everyone calling this crib a home go poof, I decided to swing by and see what _really_ went down.’ He glanced up at Tidal Wave, hovering in the sky above. ‘That’s when you and your crew of swashbucklers showed up.’ His visor gleamed. ‘I know, I know— I didn’t leave any housewarming gifts or what have you, but I ain’t stupid enough to sell myself out to the enemy, you know.’

            There was something darkly mature about those last words that took Bludgeon by surprise. He wished stupid people would go back to acting stupid, and smart people smart. This ambiguity of intelligence had become a bother to him as of late. He let out a low rumble, seemingly in agreement. ‘Why are you with them? The Autobots, I mean. You’ve trained under the guidance of Primus—yet you serve under a government that falsifies the rules of the Primal Pentateuch to suit their own demands. As one child of Primus and his Opposite to the other: why?’

            Jazz stared into Bludgeon’s eye-sockets for over a minute. Many were prepared to shoot the Autobot in the face and get it over with so they could all could go home, but Bludgeon would never allow it. Jazz smiled. ‘Hey now, I’m willing to accept any belief—and with that I’ll accept anyone who believes in anything. It’s important, and belief shapes our lives more than we know, you know?’

            ‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘And for good reason.’

            ‘I will always believe in people, whatever they believe in, as long as that belief causes no harm to others. Because that is their right, because sometimes the world needs another believer.’

            ‘And what do you believe in?’

            ‘I believe in people. Nothing more and nothing less’

            Bludgeon reeled his head back, frowning behind his mask. ‘What?’

            Jazz’s lips parted with his grin. He had reached the “punchline” of their conversation he was anticipating since the beginning. ‘To sell it to you short, I’m what you might call an atheist.’

            Bludgeon took a wide step back and waved his hand to the others. ‘Kill this imbecile.’

            Jazz was quick to repel the idea. ‘Yeah, you _could_ do that, or you could consider that, maybe, just maybe, I’m worth more to you alive than dead.’

             Bludgeon halted the order before a single gun was raised. ‘Why, dare I ask, would you suggest you’re worth anything at all?’

            ‘You mean besides my chiseled good looks and great taste in music?’

            Bludgeon was about to relay the order to kill before being stopped short by Jazz once more.

            ‘Joking! Just cool your jets for a second, would you? Chill, I only want to help.’

            ‘Help?’ Bludgeon snorted. ‘I don’t speak for everyone, but I think there's a bit of contradiction in that statement. Considering your brief history of fighting at Prime’s side, I mean.’

            Jazz’s smile flickered. ‘He’s… not as brave as he looks. I’m kind of doing this on my own. But not like that. No. I want to help you in a way that’s what you’d call mutually beneficial to the both of us.’

            ‘You mean you want to play me into a trap… Don’t shake your head, that’s exactly what’s happening right now. Your capture was so easy that you might as well have come to _us._ You’re asking for favors, and you’ve got that petulant, cocksure grin that universally translates into treachery. Just look over there! Starscream’s doing it right now!’

            ‘No I’m not!’ Starscream called, grinning maniacally.

            Back to Jazz, Bludgeon said: ‘You think I’m not going to kill you? This isn’t an action-movie, Jazz. Anyone with half a brain would eliminate the source of an obvious trap rather than listen to their demands, to stall time or otherwise.’

            Jazz nodded profusely. ‘Nono, I get that. But I’ve actually got something of value to you. Something you’ve been in an extreme lack of as of late.’

            ‘Like what?’

            ‘Respect.’

            Bludgeon rolled his eyes, and with him a half dozen anticipating Decepticons groaned. ‘So it’s not a physical object. Great. You know, Jazz, I was at least hoping you’d attempt something cliché like _leading_ me to a pitfall disguised as Optimus, but that’s just sad. I don’t need your respect.’

            ‘Oh, not mine. Your troops.’

            Bludgeon’s head bobbed back in surprise. The respect of his troops? Did he not incite respect from them like he thought? Sure he had clashed with Gutcruncher and Starscream in the past, and Banzaitron didn’t seem to like him very much. But those were the cases of a few prudent generals too full of themselves to behave properly in the face of an adversary. Besides, he had proven his power to them time and again. He had calculated his persona perfectly, there shouldn’t have been any problems. ‘What?’

            ‘You see, I’ve been thinking: big old Bludgeon has this reputation of being one of the scariest boogeymen in the known universe. You always hear about this guy’s exploits, and his military achievements, but for the life of me I can never remember actually seeing you fight. You say this isn’t a movie, but you’re the pirate dressed as a samurai here.’

            ‘What are you implying?’

            ‘I’m implying that you need to start living up to your own hype, else your people will start re-evaluating your worth, dig?’

            Bludgeon thought this was ridiculous. Until he saw Krok, that is. There was no sign of treachery emanating from the Lieutenant, just a look of concern. Or was it disappointment? It almost frightened Bludgeon. Almost. Even if it was a tiny gesture, for it to come from his most loyal soldier was… well, it was unexpected. Disappointing even. ‘Then how do you expect I prove myself?’

            Jazz spread his arms wide. ‘By taking me on.’

            There were a few laughs from the crowd. Jazz was miniscule compared to Bludgeon. The samurai cocked his head to the side. ‘You want to…?’

            He snapped his fingers before fluidly swinging himself into a fighting stance. ‘To fight, yeah. A good old fashioned rough-and-tuble. You an’ me, one-on-one. Mech against mech. A fight of honour between two Cyber-Ninja masters to decide the fate of the other and prove themselves supreme.’

            ‘You wish to… duel me?’

            ‘I… didn’t think you’d actually call it that, but yeah. A duel. If you win, I’ll tell you where Rosanna is, and if I win…’

            ‘It wouldn’t matter, would it?’ Bludgeon quickly interjected. ‘It’s a battle to the death. You’ll have killed me, so whatever promises I make will be moot if Krok or Banzaitron choose not to follow my orders post-humus.’

            Jazz had nothing more to say. Bludgeon’s death would have caused a stir in command regardless, and that would be a suitable result. Even if it wasn’t the intended effect of the battle. ‘Well then… do you accept?’

            ‘Do I accept?’ Bludgeon was stared at from all directions. Some expected him to run. Some expected to be ordered to kill Jazz on the spot. Some expected him to hesitate and fumble, wiping his non-existent sweat away with a damp cloth. Instead, he roared. At first it sounded like a scream in agony, but then quickly evolved into a fit of manic, high-pitched laughter. None of them, not even Bugly, had heard Bludgeon’s voice reach such a pitch. His head bobbled around on his neck, convulsing and saliva spewing as he laughed his violent laugh. ‘Of course I accept! I’ve been waiting for something like this for years! Decades! Yes! Yes you beautiful Autobot Scum! Let’s tear each other apart—starting now! Endlessly, and forever!’ He whipped out his sword from its sheath, gleaming its newly-polished gleam—looking as if it were just as fired up as its master. The fire in Bludgeon’s belly was revitalized, and the warrior was reborn. He broke his stance only briefly to motion Krok over to him. He whispered to the Lieutenant in a tone quiet enough so that no one else would hear. _‘Have someone search the area for Prime and any more of his conspirators. If I die here, I want you to kill Starscream, Gutcruncher, and Thundercracker—in that order. Repeat after me—but in a whisper, obviously. Kill Starscream, Gutcruncher, and Thundercracker.’_

_‘Kill Starscream, Gutcruncher, and Thundercracker. Got it.’_

            Jazz’s servos flew to his hips where he drew a pair of Energonic nun-chucks, twirling them in his hands as if they were a pair of revolvers. It _was_ a stand-off of a sort. The mood was there at least. Sand particles from the desert surrounding the city had been swept up and drifted through the darkened streets. The sun beaded down on them, though it was far from reaching levels of discomfort for a Cybertronian body-structure. Jazz almost expected a tumbleweed to materialize at any second. He took his own make-shift fighting stance, fists raised, and fingers clenched around his nun-chucks.

            ‘Wait, this is happening now?’ A baffled Gutcruncher chimed to nobody in particular. Other than perhaps the sheer and sudden absurdity of the situation itself.

            ‘Yes!’ Bludgeon cried out, jumping off the sand stained ground and lashing at the Autobot.

            Jazz managed to dodge into a backflip, but Bludgeon swiped and slashed at the tricky Autobot with deadly enthusiasm, and deadlier precision. He was faster, but Jazz was smaller, and so the advantage of evasion fell to him.

            That mattered not to Bludgeon. What mattered was the technical aspect of the match. Was this a part of Prime’s trap? Did he send Jazz to kill him so the rest of his army could crumble and fall apart, making fighting – or escaping for that matter – all the more easy? Possible. Likely, but unlikely in the grander scheme. He could sense no visible traps, and he felt no sense of urgency from the Dark Gods. Indeed, whatever snare Prime had left with his Lieutenant would not stop Bludgeon’s ferocity. He had the anger and anguish of the light gods and the dark standing behind him—watching over him; acting as a crutch for him to fall upon, only to be sprung back at the enemy with twice the force. Bludgeon was certain his summoning would bear fruit, and Bludgeon was certain he would win.

            Gutcruncher massaged his forehead before taking a spiff of his Cy-Gar, rocking side to side, gradually increasing his speed until he was practically fidgeting.

            ‘You okay, boss?’ Stratatonic asked. The yellow jet was with him for the longest time. One of his first buys—a slave-bred Cybertronian engineered by—well, he didn’t like to name his competition unless it were evident libel. Stratatonic blinked childishly. He was one of the few in Gutcruncher’s circle that knew about the rebellion.

            ‘I’m beginning to have second thoughts.’

            ‘Eh?’

            He dipped his Cy-Gar at the crowd. ‘How am I supposed to rely on any of these people? Just look at them. They’re animals!’ He chewed his Cy-Gar while gesturing to Slipstream in particular, who was slowly, clumsily dancing completely oblivious to the action. Thundercracker was shaking his head in disappointment, while Strika, despite being the strongest Decepticon, was having trouble opening a back of Energon-Crisps. Behind them, Starscream and Obsidian were bickering about something, though it didn’t seem to be of any consequence. Animals indeed.

            Stratatonic was more interested in the others. Banzaitron was staring cockily at Bludgeon’s move-set, taking verbal cues on what interested him, but mostly bragging to Axer about what moves he could have “totally” pulled off to nullify or counter Bludgeons own. Bugly watched with greater intent. Both nervously, but genuinely impressed. What confused Stratatonic was the way he seemed to watch and react to Jazz over Bludgeon. Which was ridiculous—Bugly was Bludgeon’s best friend. It was no secret he looked up to him. He did, didn’t he?

            ‘This Autobot obviously has something planned to grease our circuits,’ Gutcruncher said. ‘Maybe something stupid, but something that should probably be taken into account nonetheless. Bludgeon’s unfathomably primitive sense of “honour” is finally biting him in the aft, and it’s going to mess up everything that’s been worked for. The fourty of us are fully capable of tearing this Autobot apart, but nooooooo, let’s have a fragging “duel” instead; that’s mature. But that’s only a small part of what bothers me. Starscream is not a reliable partner in the least. I don’t know what I was thinking or how it took me this long to realize it, but we can’t assume he’s going to consider us friendlies on the battlefield. When slag goes down; which it will any second now, he’s going to treat us no better than the Prime’s inductees. After all, who cares who gets in the way of your shot as long as everyone’s aiming at the same thing?’

            Stratatonic clearly didn’t understand. ‘You think we’re going to… lose?’

            ‘I think it won’t matter who wins and who loses, ‘cause we’ll be scrapped either way. It’s called a zero-sum game; it won’t end with any mercies or compromises, we’ll either survive to see all our opposition crushed, or we all die ourselves. After all, what happens after we’re all bloody and broken? We take out Bludgeon’s supporters and go-our-separate-ways, but what the hell is that supposed to mean? Prime will be here, and so will we. Only difference is our great alliance will reveal itself to be the illusion it always was, and our remaining survivors will be forced to squabble over whatever’s left.’ He puffed steam. ‘I’m thinking you and me have about a 1/3 chance of survival. Give or take.’

            Stratatonic shuddered. He knew Gutcruncher was good with statistics—even if he probably pulled the number out of his aft at that particular moment. ‘Geez… What do you think we should do?’

            ‘Easy. You can transform into a transportation shuttle, can’t you?’ Of course he could. It was why Gutcruncher purchased him in the first place.

            ‘Sir-yessir.’

            He draped an arm over Stratatonic’s shoulder and held him in close. ‘Then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, kid. When all slag hits the fan, we play the game and contribute a humble amount of fuel to their fires. When things get really hairy—sorry, how many people can you fit inside?’

            ‘Just two.’

            ‘Just two. Good. When things get really hairy, you and I will rendezvous with Charger and get the slag out of here. But not straight away. Since we don’t want to be regarded as “unreliables” in our future business partnerships, we’ll stay for as long as we can before leaving with evidence of our affair minimal. Plus, I do want one more shot at Optimus before the opportunity is wasted on someone else. A pity otherwise, but you’ve got to make the cuts somewhere.’

            ‘Huh…’ Stratatonic looked briefly disappointed, as if he had always assumed his boss would end up on top no matter the unlikeliness of the situation. Gutcruncher—Emperor of Destruction. His name fit quite nicely, Stratatonic thought.

            Gutcruncher released him and leaned back, no longer teetering. ‘Yup, things will be better once we’re back in our own business. They always have and always were. No Decepticons or Autobots to stop us. Solo ventures and humble profits as far as the optic can see. That is the life.’

            ‘We become immortals in a sense.’ Stratatonic blurted.

            Gutcruncher stared at him, took a puff of his Cy-Gar, and looked back to the fight.

            The fight wasn’t the quick purge many expected it to be. If anything it was a long, drawn out clash of wits and reflexes that made Bludgeon look, frankly, inferior to the Autobot. Jazz flipped and dipped around him, getting in some quick jabs and smacks before ducking away from another one of Bludgeon’s rapid-fire stabs.

            Jazz was more of a contrivance than an actual threat. Bludgeon wondered if he was stalling for something, but then remembered his orders for Krok and relaxed. Everything relaxed, actually. Including his mind. It thought less like a person and more like a machine with every swing of his sword. He did stab Jazz in several key joints in hopes of slowing him down, but it did little to snuff the Guardsman’s cocksureness. For Bludgeon, it was like trying to catch a fish underwater. Not impossible, but incredibly frustrating. He had to admit, for what he was capable of, Jazz was a very talented cyber-ninja. Almost as good as him. He wondered how an atheist could have been blessed with such power, but then the Dark Gods were always tricky ones. Perhaps it was all a lie on Jazz’s part to trip him up. Still, denouncing the gods never did make them happy… He could have been a demon. He always pictured Optimus as one, after all. Demons were widely accepted by both the scientific and religious communities, though where they differed was whether they were born from Cybertron’s corrupt molten core, or were Primus’ beta experiments in the craft of creating life.

            The less he wondered, the harder it was to hold on to that string of thought and theory. It had been so long since he indulged in a warrior’s instinct. In duels of honour or otherwise. He felt his thought process devolving into a basic devotion to the eradication of the contradictory Autobot. Leaping over a consecutive sword-thrust, Jazz performed a flip-kick that was quickly blocked and deflected by Bludgeon’s lower bicep, knocking the smaller Lieutenant a distance away. And with that small, reflexive gesture, something inside Bludgeon clicked into place. His flame of thought went out in a wisp, and his mind had become nothing more than a hub of submissiveness simmering in the dark fluids of his own personal dogma.

            While it was clear Bludgeon had the upper hand, Jazz had put up a fight that would have been too much for many of the present spectators. Suddenly the puny Autobot had become an intriguing threat that only their master could save them from. Metal clashed, sending loud clangs echoing across the dusty breeze wafting throughout the city. It really could have gone either way. Bludgeon had the advantage, but it only took a lucky hit or a small misstep on Bludgeon’s part to turn it all around. Many doubted, and those who were already doubting had begun hypothesizing future outcomes should Bludgeon fail. Bludgeon hadn’t considered this whatsoever, his knowledge of Starscream and Gutcruncher’s treachery had slipped his mind, and now all that mattered was his fight for the sake of his God. For the sake of his honour.

            His mind calculated weak-points and thresholds of which he could leave his mark on the wily Autobot. Finally, one came into view. After minutes of flips, kicks and side-attacks, Jazz had taken on a new strategy entirely. Presumably, out of the impatience that found him in playing it safe since the beginning. Bad move. Taking risks was never a good idea if you didn’t have the steel to risk it. Jazz had begun somersaulting around Bludgeon; blocking his path as if to conceal something from his line of sight. He was evidentially trying to get behind Bludgeon for a back-attack, but he seemed sluggish in doing so, as if he had run out of moves or ideas. An easy win. He thrusted his blade forward, spearing through Jazz’s right shoulder and causing pink liquids to seep from the wound. It would crust in a matter of seconds. It was a perfect hit that would slow the small Autobot down effectively, but what Bludgeon didn’t expect was to fall into Jazz’s trap. As it turned out, Jazz’s nun-chucks had a “grapple” function, the lasers tying the blunted parts could extend, creating a long, thick rope used to reach higher places. Literally, in this case, not spiritually. The opposite end would split apart into a “claw” function, taking hold of whatever the user aimed at. In this case the ground. There was a reason why Jazz looked as if he were concealing something with his body, it was because he _was_ concealing something with his body. One end of the grapple stuck to the ground, Jazz had stretched the rope section out by creating a loop around Bludgeon’s legs. Bludgeon, however, was too pre-occupied with the possibility with a back attack to notice, so it only took a swift kick to the shin to force him back, and trip over the laser-wire.

            The fight’s audience gasped, and Bludgeon fell backwards, landing firmly on his back with a loud clang. He tried to get up, but the ornaments and props he had decorated himself with in order to incite fear had gotten in the way. Damn flags sprouting from his shoulder were picking up grime. He never even _liked_ cloth. Despite his shoulder wound, Jazz had managed to spring himself forward, straddling Bludgeon and pinning him to the ground; his remaining nun chuck pressing against is throat, thus cutting off his vorcoder from the sound projector located in the back of his throat. Jazz grinned his cool grin the entire time.

            Bludgeon stared back in bafflement. He was restrained, and completely vulnerable. If Jazz had taken the moment to do anything to end Bludgeon’s career—to rip off his mask, take possession of his sword, plow his fist through his spark—anything; that would be the end of it, and Bludgeon would have achieved the warrior’s death he had been expected since his first contact with the Gods. But for that to occur, it would have had to be swift and without hesitation. While Jaz was fast, he would never be strong enough to kill Bludgeon with such a weapon or such a body. He had no blades to pierce his armour, and no strength to break him in two. He instead took the moment to grin, gloating over his win. Either Jazz wasn’t as cool-headed as he appeared, or he had a death-wish, as the Guardsman had left himself wide open. Whatever opportunity Jazz had had passed, and Bludgeon made his move, spotting the weak-point, Bludgeon swept up his sword and thrusted it for Jazz’s spark. As some dramatic finish, he shouted the moment the opportunity presented itself. ‘NOW!’

            But his blade never made contact. Instead a white flash seared his optics, knocking the blade out of his hand and onto the dusty metal floor. The flash had come from a high-impact rifle of some-sort. It was soon evident that he wasn’t the target, however, as the blast of light had extrapolated from Jazz’s midsection, tearing a hole into his back, and destroying what little kibble he had attached After a moment of clear shock, Jazz swayed before toppling over, landing on his side, and crumpling up like a slab of coiling tin-foil. There was a look of what was either shock or fear plastered on his once-cocky faceplate. One that wouldn’t go away.

            Bludgeon slowly began to rise, moving over to check whether Jazz was dead or not. Before he had the chance to, he raised his head and felt his spark constrict upon itself. All around him, looks of disappointment and disgust seared into his mind. He tried to speak, but his vocoder remained damaged. The shot that hit Jazz clearly decided the match in his favour. But there was no honour in that. There was no win to be had. His army said not a word. Their optics glowed, and their looks of loyalty and admiration had dissipated—never to return in the same vein again.

 


	51. Zero-sum Game Part II

            Bludgeon was in a dream. He hadn’t slept in ages, but what else could it have been? Jazz lay on his side, still as stone. The blast of the rifle had ripped his entire set of back-kibble off his body. He didn’t look wounded enough to be dead – not that anyone had bothered to check – but in his condition, Bludgeon would be just as surprised to see him walk as he would a corpse. After all, such a small Autobot could have easily died from a quick chop to the neck. A voice hummed in his periphery. “Bddnnn,” It hummed. _Who?_ Bludgeon demanded quietly. _Syncorax? Unicron?_ “Bddnnn.”

            ‘Bludgeon.’

            He snapped awake, aware. They all stared at them. Sixty or so optics searing into his mind. All different colours. All glimmering at different intensities. And they say Decepticons’ are born with red. He stared lazily at the source of the voice. Bugly. Good Bugly. Loyal Bugly. He was a practitioner as long as he was. Not as skilled, no. But he couldn’t think of anyone else worth being alive as well as him.

           ‘Bludgeon,’ Bugly repeated. ‘You should be dead.’

            But he wasn’t. _Hm._ ‘I appear not to be.’ But his voice was barely a whisper. Jazz had evidentially done some minor damage to his throat. His vocal-processor was wavering.

            ‘What happened?’ Bugly snarled, his voice as sharp as a knife.

            ‘I could… ask the… same… I appear to have… won.’ He frowned down at the still image of Jazz, muttering to himself. _But not the way I wanted._ Slowly, he began to understand. Someone shot Jazz. Someone ensured his survival. Someone had just won him the match. Dishonourably so.

\----

            Stunned gasps exhaled from the crowded audience encircling the brawl. First, when Jazz overcame Bludgeon, squatting on top of him with his nunchakus wrapped around his throat. And again, when the restrained Samurai shouted, and a bolt of light blasted apart the Autobot’s back-section, sending him crumpling to the ground next to Bludgeon, a trail of smoke bellowing from his torso.

            Starscream frowned. Even _he_ was somewhat surprised by the turn of events. He suspected some sort of trap, but this… _Not what I had in mind_. Now Bludgeon stood, and Jazz lay crippled on the ground. But not quite. It took a keen eye to see it, but Jazz was well alive, staying as still as he could, no doubt as a means of securing an air of ambiguity to the outcome of the battle. Clearly, Bludgeon was never at risk. Jazz had his own unique skill-set, but he could never kill anyone with his bare hands, especially someone as heavily armored, and precariously self-trained as Bludgeon. You couldn’t strangle Cybertronians to death, and you sure as hell couldn’t kill them with a pair of nunchaku when they have three layers of armour separating their exoskeleton from the mallet of heated metal. It was ironic, despite his name, Bludgeon preferred bladed weapons, and here he was—his undoing incurred by an Autobot wielding a bludgeoning weapon. Indeed, this was planned. Jazz would have been killed should the shot not have made its mark. But it did. How baffling, it was, that Optimus would go to such lengths to make a point. Was he not the “benevolent” sort? The sort that got themselves executed out of some inane sense of invisible honour? Still, Jazz was not incredibly wounded. His dramatic crumble to the dusty ground appeared to have been just that: drama. The chunks of door-wing and backpack had stomached most of the shot, but the show was convincing enough for most of the watching idiots to gawk at. He looked around him, Obsidian and Strika shared knowing glances with each-other, then with him. _Of course_ they _would_ _know._ Thundercracker saw it too, though he appeared more puzzled as to what the particular motives in the display _were._ Slipstream was looking the other way. _Witch._

            Murmurs were exchanged from soldier to soldier. The smartest stood in silence, already grasping the situation at hand. It had been figured Bludgeon was being led into a trap from the start. The duel wasn’t viewed with so much as one would expect in a duel (awe, expectations, tension, intrigue) as it was viewed with frowns, questions, and disbelief. Why is he doing this? What’s the point? Isn’t this what the Autobot wants? Everyone knew of Bludgeon’s archaic sense of honour, but he _was_ intelligent, wasn’t he? It wasn’t until Bludgeon was seemingly nearing his last breath of life did they come under shock. The shock that their leader could have possibly have fallen this far.

            Bugly had already started asking questions. His voice was no longer the petulant, nasally, squeal of an upper-class practitioner of the mystic arts looking down on the non-experienced folk. His voice was dark and prodding. A serious mind digging into the poorly disguised evils of an old friend. ‘Where did that shot come from?’ Bugly asked. 

            Bludgeon only shook his head. Was it the fact that he couldn’t speak? Or that his façade had finally dissipated. Cruel, vicious, religious, charismatic Bludgeon was now only cruel, vicious, and religious. Like he always was, in a sense.

            Bugly persisted, playing the detective. Or was it the calm-minded interrogator? _We’re probably about to find out,_ Starscream figured. The mystic stepped out of the circle, secluding himself from the undefined masses. He looked in control. He tended to, as with Krok’s absence, and the mystic’s controlling personality, he did not look entirely out of place. ‘There are some… reasons to doubt, my Lord, the authenticity to your claims next to the Autobots’.’

            He shook his head again, not entirely convinced of his old friends’ reasoning.

            Bugly’s mandible-lips pressed inward as he studied his leaders’ reaction. ‘A stray bullet tore through the Autobot’s torso, just as you were about to fall. The Autobot himself bragged that you had lost your fighting touch. I know it to be an undeniable fact that you had it at some point in the past, but this encounter does make one wonder. There’s also the suspicious absence of Lieutenant Commander Krok. We all saw you speaking with him preceding the fight. You can see how this sounds.’

            ‘I can answer that.’

            Heads snapped around and shoulders parted as Krok entered the circle, brushing himself off. ‘The Dreads and I were ordered to investigate the area—see if we can find any signs of snipers or the like.’ He nodded to Jazz. ‘The kind to turn the match the way it did.’

             _But not in the way you were expecting, eh Krokky?_ Starscream mused to himself.

           ‘Then what do you think this is, then?’ Banzaitron spoke up, gesturing to Jazz with the flick of his fore-finger. ‘Why’d our sniper shoot the enemy if they weren’t a friend? It did sound an awful lot like Bludgeon gave the order.’

            Krok shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t the one who shot him. A misfire perhaps?’

            Banzaitron leaned his head back, inhaling deeply as he stared at the great blue sky above, resting his wrist beneath his chin in thought. ‘Interesting how you couldn’t find any snipers when…’ He gestured to the broken Autobot splayed before him.

            Krok frowned. ‘Obviously the shooter attempted all this as a means of pitting us against one another. It couldn’t have been any of us—we are all too tightly bunched in a single area, for anyone not to have noticed. Besides, there was no sound, the shot had to have been fired from a distance away.’

            ‘ _You_ could have been a distance away,’ Banzaitron suggested. ‘Besides, this isn’t about whether Bludgeon broke his code of honour, or “cheated” to win the match. Who cares about that? This is about how he needed _help_ to kill a single Autobot. How can we trust a guy to maintain a Decepticon government when he can’t even accomplish that—when he explicitly _knew_ he’d need help and asked for it before the fight had even begun.’ He spotted Krok’s headshake and grinned. ‘Maybe you’re mixing up “find the sniper” with “snipe my enemy when it looks like he’s gonna win”. We all know you have memory problems.’

            Starscream hadn’t even considered it. Darn. It was there in Krok’s file. It was no secret he spent years thinking his old team was alive and well, completely forgetting their fates as if it were a date on a calendar. He had muttered things to himself constantly as a means of remembering. Repeating them over and over. Krok was intelligent, but his mind was a double-sided barrel. Starscream had considered killing him, but never recruiting him. His regret to do so seemed to have thinned out, as without a straightforward sense of loyalty and command, Krok could have easily jeopardized everything.

            Krok’s voice went from firm to slightly antagonistic, as any Decepticon general’s would from time to time. ‘I know full well what my orders were. To clear out any traps or ambushes was but _one_ of my duties. I was, and am, endlessly obliged to follow them to the letter.’

            ‘Then what were your other orders, if you wouldn’t mind telling us?’

            ‘Those are confidential.’

            ‘To the head of the Decepticon Secret Service? I don’t mean to brag, but information is my deal. Confidentiality is my middle name! Banza-Confidentiality-Tron, believe it or not!’

            ‘My orders were _not_ to kill the Autobot as you so desire to believe.’

            ‘No? Then what else could they _possibly_ be? What could you and the Dreads have possibly been set out to do concurrently with the fight?’

            ‘As I explained: _not_ to interfere with the fight whatsoever!’

            ‘What then! Quit hiding from us you punk! Tell us what you were order to do! If it’s not to protect Bludgeon from his inferiority then clearly you have nothing to hide! What?! What are your orders?!’

            ‘To kill St—!’ Krok had recited his secondary order over in his mind, mouthing it beneath his faceplate since Bludgeon first asked him the very same question. Saying them was almost an instinct, and he wanted dearly, to prove Banzaitron wrong. He spoke, and the moment he did so, Bludgeon heaved, Krok’s jaw clenched shut, and thirty pairs of optics stared. Did it rule out his innocence? Perhaps it would have should his orders have been something less self-destructive. Krok. Loyal strategist Krok, endlessly reliable and the most trusted advisor in Bludgeon’s army. Ruining everything by forgetting that what Bludgeon told him was not the same as what he told everyone else. Millennia spent as the common grunt had betrayed him, he was at a loss for words. Or maybe things were already ruined. Maybe Krok’s short-term memory was one more folly in Bludgeon’s inevitable fall. Maybe no matter what Krok said, things would have gone the same way. Starscream was almost sure of it at this point. It was clear what Optimus wanted. But he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. In fact to see Bludgeon in such a state made Starscream feel—

             _Oh, son of a—_ He slapped himself in the face. Starscream figured it out. He glanced at Jazz, and saw the hint of a grin. Not at Bludgeon, or Bugly, or Krok, but at him. Starscream. The Autobot watched expectantly—knowingly. Starscream was ready to shoot off that pristine visor that, in spite of the rolling sands seeping into the city, looked as clear and blue as it were the day it was manufactured. It was as if the visor was one large eye, staring a hole into his forehead. Prime’s plan had come together. Optimus wanted to divide them—make them turn against Bludgeon. But how would he know that causing Bludgeon to stumble would lead to anything? How would he know that in spite of a rebellion, creating an obvious discord between the soldiers and their leader would cause a conflict? Because he knew someone would take that opportunity. He knew someone would be evil enough to twist the knife after it had already been plunged. He knew someone on the inside well enough that his plan would almost certainly come to fruition.

             _Me._ Starscream didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Here he was, working his way around the smallest conglomerates of Bludgeon’ Decepticons, forming alliances with those of use and power, creating a faux mask of cowardice to deter attention, working a mental civil war with Obsidian, employing Slipstream and Thundercracker to spy on his more dangerous allies, manipulating the grunts and the stupid into blaming their grievances on Bludgeon and his orthodoxy. He saw himself as the one in complete control. The puppet-master, the master planner. What he didn’t expect was for Optimus to foresee it all. Optimus knew Starscream would make a bid for power when it presented itself, be it through sheer force or subtle assassination, and he knew Starscream would make it as glamourous as possible, and so sheer force it would be. Because that’s who Starscream was. Starscream did all the work, but all of the work played straight into Optimus’s escape-route. Optimus was the true puppet master. Maybe what Bludgeon once said was true? Maybe he was a demon? _No._ Starscream realized. _He’s just an anarchist in denial._ Clearly, Prime’s hate for authority had spread to his scheming. What better way to take down Bludgeon’s army than by tearing down all his authority and letting his little generals run rampant? No doubt to escape during the confusion. Pure anarchy was a stride away from being unlocked, and Starscream had the key. It was up to him now, Starscream could have easily said nothing. Turn Optimus into the fool, let them all walk away with a bad taste in their mouths, and leave his lieutenant dead in the ground. He could certainly lead his revolution tomorrow, if Bludgeon hadn’t ordered them all killed first. But when would he have a better chance than now? When distaste remained fresh on the glossas of his mechs? When his intentions for even his generals were clear. Besides, with Banzaitron’s obvious taunts, it was clear there was no going back now. Starscream would play to Prime’s tune. He couldn’t let his pride consume him, instead he used his embarrassment and rage to fuel his fighting adrenaline.

            Starscream took that first step forward towards Bludgeon. The Leader was looking the other way, at Banzaitron, trying to work out his scheme.

            ‘Would you mind finishing that?’ Banzaitron asked Krok.

            Krok looked to Bludgeon, but Bludgeon would only growl. He turned to Banzaitron, to Bludgeon, and back. ‘To kill Starscream… if he did anything traitorous.’ The last part felt so painfully tacked on that even Krok recognized it as a cheap lie. That sort of order should have come as soon as Starscream made planet-fall. Not even Krok needed to be reminded to be wary of Starscream. Krok was too loyal; deviousness and lies were an alien concept to him.

            ‘Was there anyone else Bludgeon wanted dead?’

            Krok only squinted. Banzaitron was only leading him on at this point, what was about to happen was about to happen no matter the presentation building up to it.

            Banzaitron nodded, then turned to Starscream himself, Starscream whipped a blade from his waist compartment. ‘I think this has been a very enlightening experience for everyone.’ Before Bludgeon could turn around, Starscream thrust his blade into the Leader’s back. ‘Especially of which where the real power lies.’ He let the blade stick out from the limp samurai’s back and gestured around to the gaping audience. There were fewer faces of shock than he expected. Most had taken his side already, or at least the opposition to Bludgeon. Most wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. ‘Do you see? Do you see where loyalty gets you? Everyone flocks to the winning team, but when that team loses their winnings, what do you do? Do you maintain your loyalty to them and go down with their ship? No! You stab the growing cyst, eating away and at your command structure, and tear it out! The smart only maintain loyalty if your leadership is capable of it. I don’t care what you think of me, but I’m taking this lunatic off his throne.’ Perhaps there would be less conflict than he realized. Bludgeon’s supporters were much fewer than he expected. _Tough break, Optimus._ ‘Maybe then one of us will actually get a stab at the Prime—‘

            ‘OW!’ Bludgeon’s body straightened out suddenly, and Starscream winced, his speech cut inevitably short. The samurai looked over his shoulder, gawked at the knife sticking out of his back, and glowered at Starscream. ‘You stabbed me…’ He stumbled, and caught himself, blinking rapidly. ‘…in the back!’ He looked again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. ‘Literally!’

            Starscream gasped. ‘You—you’re ruining the symbolism! The significance! The imagery! I didn’t buy a knife from Gutcruncher to actually _fight_ with it!’

            ‘Then Gutcruncher’s a part of this too?’

            ‘Well no duh! We’re all part of it! Cept for Krok and Cannonball, but…’ He whipped out his null ray and shot Bludgeon full of machine bullets, knocking the Samurai back slightly, but leaving nothing more than a few dozen circular dents in his armour. Starscream put on an unhappy face. ‘I was… uh, expecting that to do more.’

            ‘It’s called a pretender shell, Starscream. It makes oneself very…’ he slammed his fist across Starscream’s face-plate, knocking him an astro-meter backwards, and sending purple spittle spraying from his jaw, ‘…durable.’

            Starscream span through the air and landed gracefully on his feet. ‘Well, you’d have to be kidding me if this didn’t leave a mark.’ Several panels opened up revealing an armory’s worth of missiles and machine-guns aligning Starscream’s figure. They all fired at once, sending an onslaught of explosives crackling into Bludgeon’s torso and knocking him back onto the ground. He grinned sickly as he approached the Samurai. ‘Come on, Bludgeon… show me the real you… wind me up… turn the gears.’

            Before Starscream could reload, Bludgeon was already back on his feet, wiping droplets of spilled oil from his chin. ‘I always expected you to pull something, Starscream… Even when you tricked me into believing you were nothing short of a coward, I always felt it necessary to take that extra step!’

            ‘Oh?’ Starscream dove forward, activating his saw-blades.

            ‘Which is why I had Ferak implant Chaff-grenades in the materials Thundercracker used to repair you.’

            Starscream’s oil went cold. ‘What?’ Suddenly, a loud pop echoed throughout the landscape, and Starscream collapsed, hitting the ground motionless and silent. His systems were frozen. Unable to move, but given just enough freedom to watch Bludgeon advance.

            ‘You think you stood a chance against destiny, Starscream? Banzaitron? Whoever else conspired to end me? I made this place in the image of God. I manufactured all of this… all of this to bring Optimus to us! To bring him to his knees, and ensure a proper future for the Decepticons— under a proper rule! I was promised this—rewarded! What I have achieved, is a gift that cannot be returned! That’s the problem with all of you. You’re not… proper. You think your numbers are so great?’ Bludgeon splayed out his arms. ‘Look around you! I cobbled together a pirate force from nothing! I employed chief strategists to plan years ahead in case anything went wrong! Even now you stand under the Tidal-Wave—forged from the spark of a Titan! Do you think any of you have a chance against that? How about the dozens of loyal mechs manning my railguns? I’ll have you know they are on their way now to put you all down. Did you never consider that a group of paid mercenaries might not have been the greatest defense against a solidified army under the guidance of Primus? Oh, I’m sorry, a group of paid mercenaries and _Starscream._ I am in control here. I always have. I’d tell you to grovel, but I don’t think any of it would make up for your betrayal. You all should have acted like the good soldiers you are and followed your orders like the others. You were never meant to change, or to achieve anything greater. Under Primus, we either are, or we aren’t. The ones that aren’t, will remain untouched by Primus’ forgiveness. The ones that don’t—‘

            ‘Bludgeon!’

            A figure emerged from the crowd. Hatchet, the Dread. He had finally returned, followed by another. ‘It’s a trap! All of it!’ Trailing behind Hatchet, was The Pirate Captain Cannonball.

            Bludgeon frowned ‘What the hell?’

             _What the hell?_ Starscream thought.

             _What the hell?_ Obsidian and Strika thought.

            They all gazed up upon the Tidal Wave. While his crew made up the ground forces with Bludgeon, Cannonball was supposed to be manning its defense systems. Alone.

            ‘It’s not me up there!’ Cannonball screamed, pointing at the Tidal Wave.

            ‘Evidentially not,’ Bludgeon snarled.

            ‘They kicked me off the side, made me walk my own plank!’

            ‘Who did?!’

             _‘Took you long enough.’_ A voice boomed throughout the city.

            Bludgeon gawked around. ‘Who?!’

            But Starscream recognized the voice immediately. Though lying on the ground, paralyzed, Starscream could weakly make-out the voice. ‘Opti…mus.’

            The voice boomed once again, _‘I would have stepped in earlier if not for how impossible these megaphone-things are to work. But anyway, I’d like to think you’re all in a bit of a precarious position.’_

_‘_ Show yourself!’ Bludgeon gasped.

             _‘What part of “pay no attention to the mech behind the curtain” don’t you understand?’_

‘It’s coming from inside the city!’ Krok observed, pointing his index figure towards the city-scape behind them.

             _‘I think that’s what they call a “spoiler alert.”.’_

‘What are you planning?!’ Bludgeon demanded.

             _‘Nothing, Bludgeon. Everything I’ve planned has already happened. Jazz incited the conflict I wanted to divide you, - I’m the sniper by the way – Starscream instigated his rebellion, Blackarachnia put her skills as a “stealth-commando-spider-warrior” to the test, and captured your ship before anyone could get any communications through.’_

_‘Yo!’_ Blackarachnia’s voice echoed from the Tidal-Wave’s outer speakers.

             _‘It wasn’t hard to do, I mean, any one of you could have been the leader of this little alliance. And I think a lot of you could have done Bludgeon in when you had the chance. I mean… you! Well, you can’t see that I’m pointing at you, but the floating helicopter Decepticon, I’m sure at least you would be able to beat Bludgeon in a fight. There’s no way that body-type isn’t Quintessonian, and that alone should grant you a huge advantage. But I’m rambling. You and your loyal subjects have a number of options left—you can all decide to work together and kill me, making Bludgeon a true Lord of the Decepticons. Or, you can see who can race to me first without getting caught in the cross-fire. Maybe one of you has a chance of becoming leader of the Decepticons? Or, maybe it would be best to eliminate the opposition before taking me on personally. Or you can always do the easy thing and run away before this city turns into a warzone. Though if I start firing now, so will the Tidal Wave, and it will be up to you to choose. But first, lemme give you a demonstration of what I can do from here._

             A stray shot hit the ground next to Bludgeon’s feet. The Leader looked up and frowned. ‘You missed.’

_‘Did I?’_

            Several sets of optics looked around in caution. When nothing happened, Bludgeon stared at the source of the shot. ‘Yes!’

\-----

            Optimus slumped over, the scoped rifle from Chromia’s armoury. He sighed. ‘Aww.’ His aim was garbage.

\-----

            ‘Before you take your real first shot, Optimus,’ Bludgeon asked, ‘answer me this.’

             _‘Shoot.’_

            Slipstream laughed. ‘”Shoot.” Cause he has a gun.’

            ‘Were you really so far as willing to kill your own soldier to make a point?’

             _‘What? Oh. No. Truthfully I missed those first couple of shots. By chance I got Jazz in the back. The thing is… well… Jazz!’_

The Elite Guardsman burst from the ground, doing a sweeping kick and knocking Bludgeon on his back. ‘They’re called stun bullets.’ Misfire and Fulcrum leapt at him. Activating his nunchaku, Jazz quickly flicked his wrist, wrapping the rope-sections around their necks. He fell backwards, taking them down with him. Both Decepticons hit the ground, taking the oil and wind out of them in the process. Jazz twisted in place, dancing off the ground and landing with both feet planted on the Decepticons’ chests. ‘The kibble’s just for show!'

            ‘Well!’ Banzaitron whipped a pistol from his belt and shot Bludgeon in the chest. The shot deflected, but left a deep dent from where it touched. ‘Never much cared for Leadership potential so—DSS! Kill anyone defending Bludgeon! Leave the lunatic-thinking-he’s-better-than-me to me!’

            Gutcruncher stepped in, transforming into tank-mode. ‘You know the drill, break through Bludgeon’s line of defense! Make your way to the city if you get the chance! Get too cocky and you get left behind. Capeesh?’

            Thus, just as Optimus had said, the city had turned into a war-zone. Bludgeon stumbled, but held onto his strength, deflecting Jazz’s attacks with his blades. Jazz’s stasis-nap was enough to pull him back into pique physical condition, as his attacks were quick, accurate, and followed up with rapid precision. Banzaitron barked orders to his men as they charged, making up the front line of attack. Treadshot fired mortar shells from his chest, blasting apart Krok’s division and sending them into disarray. Axer somersaulted through the air, emptying his pistols in all directions, causing Decepticons to scatter for cover as the bounty-hunter guffawed. Gutcruncher’s forces provided a mix of guerilla tactics and a rear-defense, scampering forward to shoot and scampering back. Save for Roadgrabber, who transformed into his fourth vehicular configuration: a war-chariot, and charged down the middle in a blaze of glory; several guns and lasers firing a chain of fire and light, blazing a trail for Banzaitron and the others to make their mark. The Tidal Wave fired mortars and laser-fire from above that ripped the ground apart beneath their feet. While Blackarachnia had used up all of her energy slaughtering her way through the ship in spider-mode, she needed only lift a finger to deliver a wave of destruction to the dusty earth below. From afar, Optimus fired from Chromia’s rifle. A few aerial forces blazed towards the city, keen on taking him out and claiming leadership before anyone else did. While he missed his shots, the return-fire was enough for the jets to circle the other way. Obsidian and Strika casually walked forward, batting aside those of Bludgeon’s circle who thought fit enough to overtake them. Thundercracker followed, hunched over and on his tip-toes with an incendiary rifle between his fingers, trying to avoid a stray shot aiming for his head. Slipstream danced around, laughing and breathing in the carnage.

            Strika grinned, and pounded her fists together. ‘I’ve been waiting for this…’ She jogged forward, swung her fist, and lobbed off the head of one of Cannonball’s ground-troops. ‘I’ve been holding back for too long, you understand what this means?’ She grabbed a pirate by the throat, and raised their face to meet her own. ‘DO YOU?!’ The pirate let out an “eep” and Strika laughed. With one hand, she tore the small pirate’s head clean off of their body and chucked the rest of it into a crowd of her opponents. ‘It means I’m going to enjoy this very much, and you, most certainly will not!’

\-----

Banzaitron sprinted at increasing speeds, impatiently drawing closer towards the famed master of metallikato. Everyone that crossed his path in his defense was an annoyance that was quickly dealt with by his men. Treadshot was the most reliable in his charge, but the Decepticon Secret Service as a whole was shining pretty brightly that day. They danced around the mortars falling from above and pounced on those who got in Banzaitron’s way. Explosions rippled all around them, and the lightly dusted air was ablaze with fire and embers alike. Banzaitron beckoned those still running alongside him. Treadshot and Razor-Sharp among him.

            ‘Treadshot! Circle around and shoot him to slag! Razor-Sharp—’

            The small purple and green Decepticon perked up. ‘Yeah boss?’ He was the smallest Decepticon under Banzaitron, always eager to please, and almost always successful in his goals. His size made data-gathering and assassinations a breeze for Banzaitron. He really needed to give him that promotion sooner or later. ‘Anything I can do for ya? Just say so, I got this guy in the bag!’

            ‘Get past him, and when his back is turned, shoot a hole through his helm. Can’t do that? Stab him in the neck ‘til his head falls off.’

            ‘Got it, boss! You can count on me, ye can!’ The small Decepticon scuttled against the ground, blending in with the dead metal around the battlefield. Banzaitron grinned as he honed in on Bludgeon.

Jazz somersaulted over Bludgeon, delivering a swift kick to the back of his helm. Bludgeon spat, twirled around, and swiped his blade, cutting into the blocking Autobot’s arm. A streak of purple splashed from the gash, but Jazz would only wince.

            ‘Gettin’ tired?’

            ‘I never tire.’ Bludgeon spat, slashing at the Elite Guardsman.

            Jazz dodged the blade, falling backwards on his hands before pushing back up off of the ground and diving feet-first at Bludgeon, landing a kick to his chest. ‘Y’sure? We could always settle this with a bit of a chill-out session. Play some tunes, drink some fine Energon… all that J—.’

            ‘I don’t think I made myself clear. When I say I never rest— I _never_ rest. I never have the chance to. They’re always pushing me to stay awake. Always.’

            ‘Uhh, who?’

            ‘The Dark Gods themselve—‘

            ‘Ohhhkay, I’m going to have to stop you right there and— ah, on second thought? Pretend I never asked.’

            Jazz prepared to keep up the assault, only for a hand to grab him by the shoulder, lift him off his feet, and lob him a yard away like he were some playground toy. ‘Out of the way jerk-face!’ Banzaitron spat as he took his place in the fight. He assaulted Bludgeon with several rapid-fire jabs that took the Metallikato master by surprise. Bludgeon span around, and began deflecting shots from Treadshot and Revolver. A few more secret service members by the names of Turbo and Sniffer jumped at him, firing and swiping at him in circles like a pack of wolves attempting to take down an elephant.

            Jazz sat up, massaging his head as Treadshot dodged his way, nearly tripping over him. ‘Fragging Autobot!’ But instead of making the Guardsman pay for his actions, he carried on, and fired his pistol at Bludgeon.

            As Jazz stood, Axer drove by, firing from his vehicular mode at the Samurai. ‘I’d stand aside, Autobot. We’re both trying to kill the same guy, but that doesn’t mean any of us will be watching out for you. If a bullet flies past, I’d duck your head.’ He paused in consideration. ‘Or don’t. One less Autobot in the universe.’

            Jazz massaged the back of his head, ‘Thanks for the advice. I think.’ He transformed into his silver Cybertronian vehicle mode and blazed forward, driving at Bludgeon’s legs. He barrelled through, knocking the Samurai over and accelerating along. His supporters began homing in on him, firing at the car as it raced seamlessly around the lasers, occasionally boosting through the air to safety.

\----

Starscream could see perfectly clear in his moment of stasis. Unfortunately, he could feel too. Moments ago, Cannonball, Brimstone, Thundertron, and Crowbar gloated over him. He looked back at that with nostalgia. Now they were shooting and stabbing his frame, trying to find his rare weak-points. _Ahah! Even like this none of you can kill me!_ But they were getting closer. His chest began caving in against his spark-chamber, and his helm was battered to the point where much of his adornments were beginning to come loose. Metal plates were pried off, and soft tissues were shoved in. He couldn’t die yet! He still needed to one up Megatron! He felt his arm shake. _Yes. Move, damn you!_ It slowly began to rise. _Yes… I can do this. I am Starscream. I am Starscream. I am Starscream._

            Cannonball smirked as Brimstone tossed him a cannon.

            ‘One of our dead dropped it. I think his name was Toxin or something.’

            ‘It’ll do pretty darn nicely, Brimstone. Pretty darn nicely!’ He pressed the tip of the barrel against Starscream’s forehead. ‘From this range you can’t not die, eh Starscream? Picture it: Cannonball—destroyer of Starscream! That ought to get me some respect around here. Well, Starscream? Any last wo—‘

            Starscream raised his arm and fired a missile from his wrist. The missile struck Cannonball in the neck, exploding a hold between his chin and his colour bone, and leaving his head dangling on a cord. His body wobbled side to side as he attempted to regain his composure, in doing so, he fired his cannon, spraying shells everywhere and hitting Brimstone in the legs. His second squealed and fell as Thundertron charged forward. Starscream changed his aim and struck the aged pirate in the chest, knocking him onto his back and into a plume of smoke. Cannonball felt at his neck only for his hand to pass through it. He tried to yell, but his jaw had been completely detached from the rest of his body.

            Starscream fired a shot into Cannonball’s chest, breaking it apart and sending him crumpling to the ground. _I AM STARSCREAM!_

            He fired a missile into Brimstone’s head, tearing it clean from his collapsing body. _I AM STARSCREAM!_

            He fired several shots at the world around them, the missiles rained back down, sending limbs and dirt flying across his line of sight. ‘I AM STARSCREAM!’ He shouted.

            ‘Whatever.’ Crowbar grappled the missile-launcher from Starscream’s grip, and smacked him across the face with it. ‘Won’t stop you from getting killed.’ The Dread stepped aside as Bugly came into view. He was flying towards him from above. _What’s he going to do, tackle me even further into the ground?_ But then he realized

            Yes.

            He was.

            Starscream knew little about Bugly. Only that he was controlling, people hated him, and he was a master of some dumb martial art practise. What he didn’t know, was that Bugly was the size and shape of Blackout. The massive Decepticon plummeted towards him, limbs splayed and chest jutted out. His sheer mass was going to crush the Seeker.

             _Maybe if I can move just a little to the—_

‘Aww, fu—‘

             _Crunch._

\-----

            Gutcruncher’s crew were holed in a makeshift trench, firing at Krok’s squadron from afar. They were about equal in might, but the real target was Bludgeon. Krok’s team acted as a protective shield around Bludgeon and Banzaitron’s men, ensuring that only a select few would have the opportunity to take the Metallikato Master head on. Their numbers suddenly meant nothing out in the open.

Charger removed his binoculars. ‘Ah...’

            ‘What is it?’ Gutcruncher demanded. He was busy firing at Spinister in his tank mode, but the helicopter was not complimenting his aim.

            ‘Starscream’s dead.’

            ‘What?’ Gutcruncher reversed back into the trench and transformed before hitting the ground. ‘Lemme see those,’ He spat as he snatched the binoculars away from him. He looked through to see Starscream’s crumpled body getting savagely beaten and torn by Bugly and a crowd of like-minded extremists. He could barely make Starscream out in the crowd, or whether he was even moving. ‘You think so? It’s kind of hard to tell.’

            ‘Possibly. _Probably._ He’s survived much in the past, but I don’t know _why_ you would want to keep your hopes up in this scenario.’

            ‘I’m keeping my hopes up that he stays dead. Good riddance. Hasta la vista.’ He hummed as he moved the binocular’s direction to Bludgeon. ‘Banzaitron seems to have this covered… What’s our status?’

            Charger squinted at the slaughter. ‘Roadgrabber is dealing the most damage as you would expect. Take-Off and the others are doing what they can along the trenches— I’m not sure _where_ Stratatonic is…’

            ‘I do. He’s waiting just down the alley on our left flank.’ He reached for a Cy-Gar, only to realize he’d reached the last on his immediate person. He frowned. ‘I think it’s high time we met up with him.’

            ‘Why? What’s he doing over there?’

            ‘He’s our escape ticket.’

            ‘But I thought his cockpit could only fit—oh.’

            Gutcruncher nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, we should probably go.’

            ‘Right.’

\-----

            Strika laughed heartily, tearing her fists through dozens of Decepticons allied with Bludgeon. Some, however, were probably not Bludgeon’s. She hated the long-winded political games Starscream had them play to reach this moment, but the moment was a great one nonetheless. She smashed her fist through walls of Decepticons. There were so many of them that it was as if they were coming from the sky—oh. They were. Half of Bludgeon’s railgun crew were making planet-fall to help eradicate the insurrection. There were about two dozen in total, and they were all homing in on the largest player on the battlefield. Her. Strika continued her blood-bathe, striking fist after fist, and tearing into the hordes like they were cardboard; laughing all the way. A loud roar echoed from behind her. She turned, to see Hatchet, one of the infamous “dreads”. A subspecies of Cybertronian that once lived in the swamps of Kiaulune. Pity it got obliterated in the Fulcrum bombings. She was surprised any of them still existed. Hatchet snarled, wisps of steam slithering out from his nostrils like the last smoking ember of a bonfire. The four legged Decepticon burst into a charge, and Strika did the same. The two massive forces clashed, causing several fighting Decepticons to stop what they were doing and watch in awe.

            Strika grinned at the snarling beast. ‘Aren’t you adorable? I think I had one of you for a meal once. It was kind of like petro-rabbit. But you’re about as harmless as one aren’t y—.’

            ‘That would be highly unlikely.’ Hatchet responded in a clear, well-mannered voice.

            ‘Eh?’

            ‘Petro rabbits are proven to be quite delicious, we, however, with our large mass, would make for a far more gamey feast. Your denta would never pierce through our armoured plating. We, however, are manufactured with cybertanium fangs, capable of ripping any Cybertronian metal – no matter how thick – asunder.’

            ‘Eh?’

            ‘Which is why I employed several of my peons to close in on you—so that I may deal the killing blow myself. Krok wanted me to advise him and his own team, but I’m sure he’ll either succeed well enough without me, or fail miserably. I’m the only one capable of taking the largest player on the board down, therefore to disperse the troops in my favor would prove to be the most preferable outcome.’

            ‘Eh?’

            Hatchet sighed. ‘And yes, I am indeed a very big “cat”.’ With that, the Dread sunk his teeth deep into Strika’s neck, pulling out several tubes and exo-structures. Strika gasped, felt the gash, and felt her head slack to the side. _That’s not good._ Liquid gushed from open wound and ran down her fingers. _That definitely not good._ She continued her wicked assault on the Dread, swinging her fists wildly in succession and covering the beast-like Decepticon in several dents. Her vision blurred, and her head kept lolling to the side, but it wasn’t about to quell her adrenaline. Not yet, at least. _Just gotta keep punching. Just gotta keep punching…_

            Thundercracker was having a bad time. Strika and Starscream were dying, if not already dead, Slipstream was dancing around stray bullets like it were some kind of game, and Obsidian was nowhere to be found. He didn’t belong here. It wasn’t a battle. A battle was two sides fighting one another. This was Decepticon killing non-discriminant Decepticon, with Autobots helping whichever side they felt like, apparently. Optimus was right. They should have just taken their chances and ran, all of them. But Thundercracker knew that sort of thing didn’t just happen. Thundercracker knew Decepticons weren’t born for negotiating. Or in some cases, sense. He spun around and fired his incendiary gun, taking out a Decepticon trying to sneak up on him from behind. The bullet struck through their forehead and out the back, killing them instantly. His body fell forward, landing on his face with his rump in the air. That wasn’t a good way to go. No death was, really. There was no dignity in death. _I’m sounding like Dirge._ Thundercracker thought to himself before spinning around once again and shooting down a small pirate working for Cannonball. He was a murderer. Call it “war” he was murdering his own kind. Maybe they deserved it. _I sure as hell do._ But to be gunning down fellow Decepticons in the chaotic mess they called a battle was plain insanity. With Autobots it was a simple matter of preventing them from hindering the Decepticon’s dream of power and freedom. Thus: war. With organics it is a matter of pushing them just enough until they fall under a proper guidance. But here, on the ground amidst the violence, the bodies… Thundercracker needed to get out of here. He spotted Obsidian, hovering in the sky and shooting down anything that came close. Curiously, he was awfully close to the city where Optimus was hiding. Maybe he just didn’t have the time to search. He considered flying up to join him and get away from the bloodshed. He’d have felt a thousand times more comfortable in the sky anyway, but Tidal Wave’s mortar fire made it hard to get the running start to take off, and he was left scurrying in the dirt. _Maybe if I just…_ He ducked away from the fire, did a somersault behind the remains of a few unfortunately dead soldiers, and prepared to transform. It wasn’t really any help, but he knew his place would be better in the sky than—

            He felt his face crack against the ground, a cold servo squeezing against the back of his head as if to break it open like a vulture and scrape out the contents inside.

            ‘I told you I’d find you, Thundercracker,’ Tornado hissed.

             _Damn!_ He should have seen this coming. He should have heeded Tornado’s threat and escaped as soon as he had the chance. But he didn’t. Because he was an idiot, probably. He always let others lead him into tragedy, and this was quite possibly the last he would. If only he could work for himself, he thought, if only he could do things his way. But it never happened. He felt a swift kick into his gut that flipped him over and onto his back. Ferak was there too, scowling over him with contempt.

            ‘It’s been a long time coming, but it looks like we’ve finally got him off our hands.’

            ‘Not yet,’ Tornado snapped, snatching him by the throat and jerking him up onto his knees. ‘I want him to understand what he’s done.’

            ‘I understand clearly!’ He blurted. ‘I disobeyed orders to survive! I decided that sacrificing myself for a lunatic was ridiculous, so I had my own way! And you know what? I’m glad I did! You can take your brain-washed loyalty and shove it, Tornado. I don’t need someone who thinks all there is to life is destroying the opposition to lecture me on how to live it.’

            ‘We are soldiers, Thundercracker.’ She shoved her thumb into the Seeker’s optic and twisted, causing residual light to seep from the broken hole as pain seared his circuits. ‘We don’t have lives. This is what we are, and you believing yourself to be anything different, makes you nothing short of a defective cog in a machine built of identical parts.’ She dropped him on his back, and reached for her rifle. ‘But I get what you mean. I don’t know why making an example of you would be a fair idea. I’m just going to end this chapter already and turn you into a gross memory I’ll occasionally recall while washing the grease from my finger-tips.’

            As soon as her hands gripped around the trigger, her head went cracking sideways, and her body went soaring in the same direction. Strika grabbed her wound with one arm, and reeled her fist back with the other. She nodded to Thundercracker, who rose to his feet. When she turned around, Tornado had jetted back into her, thrusters blazing, and arms flailing into the much larger Decepticon. Missiles crashed into her chest and sent her stumbling back, but it took little more than a swing of her open hand to bat the General away.

            ‘Ahh, I’ve expected something like this, Strika.’

            ‘Really? Cause I didn’t.’

            ‘I always hated the way you acted around your superiors.  You never acted your part; never showing Megatron any respect, never showed up in a presentable manner, never tried to be loved, nor feared. You always liked bringing “snacks” to the union of the conclave, and you just _loved_ getting syrup and crumbs everywhere. Even on Megatron!’ She winced at the memory. ‘It’s all so embarrassing and disrespectful, and… unsuited for someone with a legacy such as yourself! Just what kind of Decepticon General are you?’

            Strika nodded, as if coming to an understanding. ‘Oh yeah, I see how this is. You’re an idiot.’

            Tornado’s jaw went slack. ‘What?’

            She looked over at Thundercracker. ‘Sorry for doubting you, you were right, this one is crazy.’

            Tornado’s visor blazed.

            ‘Look, Tornado, I knew Megatron. For a long time, actually. I spoke with him about, you know, stuff. Battle plans, strategics and the like, but also just, you know, normal stuff. We talked, and, surprisingly, he’s no messiah. And you thinking he was a messiah deserving of prayer or worship, is just crazy! He was just a spectacular person, and a friend. Don’t get me wrong. He was the greatest mech who ever lived— and I think we agree on that front, but because of a stupid mistake, he’s dead, and I want to help him get the closure he needs—deserves. You know, as thanks for being a good person to me—to all of us, without unneeded prejudice.’

            Tornado snarled, and activated a pair of long blades from her wrists.

            ‘So you see, in his memory, I am going to do what Megatron would have done if he were here.’

            ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

             ‘I’m gonna KICK YOUR ASS!’ Strika clenched her fists and kicked the ground, banking into a running start.

            The two generals clashed, grappling and striking each-other relentlessly. Thundercracker provided cover fire on Strika’s end, keeping Ferak and anyone else from shooting at her. She was an easy target, after all. He saw Tornado’s blades emerging out of Strika’s back as she stabbed through her, over and over again. He swallowed. He really shouldn’t have worried about her losing her life, but he did. Say one truth that Thundercracker would never dare admit, say he was soft. He hated his comrades, and his superiors, but he never wanted to see them die.

            Strika cracked her fist against Tornado, firing missiles from her turrets that rained down on their surroundings, creating a wall of fire that prevented interference. Tornado kept stabbing, but with each stab, she slowed. Strika rolled over, so she was on the bottom, and lifted the smaller Decepticon off of the ground, she grabbed her by the arm and ripped back, dislodging the limb from its connecting ports and sending a stream of rippling sparks showering from the empty stump. Tornado only grunted and fired a volley of missiles from her chest into Strika’s large mass. Strika grunted back, ripped off her other arm and reeled back, before throwing the General several yards away, and into the chaotic mess of Banzaitron’s division.

            Strika turned back to Thundercracker and smiled, ‘See? Strika saves the day once agai—‘

            ‘Get down!’ Thundercracker bellowed, firing a volley of missiles and incendiary bullets in her direction. Strika ducked, and the volley crashed into Ferak. He was so certain he could sneak up on the wounded General that his face barely distorted as his torso imploded on him. He fell backwards, and crashed back into the ground.

            Strika whirled around to the smoking body, and back to Thundercracker. ‘Wow, Thundercracker. I guess I was wrong about you. You’ve got some vigour in you after all.’

            He shrugged as he approached the General, reloading his weapon. ‘Thanks for the save.’ He winced sheepishly. ‘I… really shouldn’t have to keep relying on you and Obsidian to bail me out.’

            ‘No problem. It _was_ Tornado after all. Not everyone can frag with glitches like that.’ She looked into the crowd of which Tornado had disappeared into. ‘You think they’re dead?’  
            Thundercracker walked up to Ferak, frowning over his body. ‘Hope not. I still need Ferak alive if I want Skywarp back in one piece.’

            Strika shrugged. ‘Right, guess we better take him with us then— see what we can salvage.’

            Thundercracker frowned at the body. ‘Yeah.’

            Strika clapped her hands together. ‘Welp, I guess all’s well that ends well, eh, Thundercracker?’

            Only for Hatchet to leap onto her back, taking a second deep bite into her neck, sinking his teeth into the melding steel and sucking away at the gushing Energon. He let go to speak, mouth dripping pink. ‘You didn’t abandon our fight just to rescue your comrade, did you?’

            Strika began to thrash, slamming the back of her fist into Hatchet’s face and detaching him from her. She let out a slurred roar, ‘Blasted irony!’   



	52. Zero-sum game Part III

            Banzaitron charged Bludgeon, balefully and elegantly dancing around the samurai’s jabs while striking whatever weak-points he could detect. Which, admittedly, weren’t many. Surrounding them, Axer and Treadshot provided cover-fire, ensuring no interference from Bludgeon’s surrounding armada.

            A shell burst in front of Krok’s face, blinding him momentarily and raining him in metallic flesh and oil. The sounds of screams came with it, smothering him with heat and agony. Krok blinked the debris out of his optics and flicked a severed finger from the side of his face. Whose it was didn’t matter anymore. He looked around. A few dozen mechs remained of his unit, and from their position, they would not last much longer. He turned his head. Bludgeon was fighting off Banzaitron, but as much as he desired to see his Lord fighting him off, proving his power, and showing up the dishonourable villain, the warrior was only barely able to keep up with the Director of the Secret Service. He cast a worried frown. Bludgeon locked optics with him if only for a moment before turning away to defend himself. Bludgeon gave him everything. He never knew what Bludgeon saw in him, but apparently it was enough to make him his highest confidant. Hell, he wasn’t even that great of a strategist. Above average, maybe, but not worth the position he found himself in. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Like Starscream said, you don’t stick around with the losing team. He bit down, regretting what he was doing before he even did it. ‘Spinister! Crankcase! Make the call, we’re moving to the right flank within the remains of the former Agriont!’

            Crankcase grumbled his approval and dashed, ducking his broken head amidst the chaotic exchange of laser-fire. Spinister continued his assault, hesitating. ‘We would be leaving Bludgeon for the cyber-crows.’

            ‘I know.’

            The croak in Krok’s voice told him enough. Spinister hovered over, parlaying the message to anyone left to hear it. _Things are going to work out_ , he thought to himself. Things _had_ to work out. He’d reposition the forces, then call in Hatchet to take over. He was a real strategist. Not at Obsidian’s level, but he could have very well help him turn the tide. _Things are going to work out._ He told himself again, so he wouldn’t forget.

\-----

            Thundercracker transformed into his jet mode and unleashed his missiles. They screamed towards the dread, exploding chunks of body-armour off of the beast and pushing him back onto his hind legs. Strika weakly fired missiles from her turret that whizzed off and struck the ground surrounding them, clipping a ground-soldier of Banzaitron’s troupe in the process.

Thundercracker transformed and landed on the Dread’s back, punching and kicking furiously— only for the massive beast to leap from the ground, sending him tumbling onto his side. Strika was on her knees, pushing herself to get up, and punching aside whatever got in her way, be them an enemy or a chunk of dead metal. Before Hatchet could pounce her, another figure jumped on his back. This time it was Slipstream, stabbing at slashing at the nape of the Dread’s neck with a shard of fragmented metal. She tore into his cords and his wires; sending sparks crackling from his neck to his eyes. Thundercracker pulled himself out of the dust and fired from his incendiary gun, rippling shots across his dark body-frame. The Dread crowed and wriggled, unsure of who he was supposed to fight. Nonetheless, he dragged his body towards Strika, intent on finishing the mission objective. He would eliminate the greatest threat to his master’s rule, whatever it took.

            ‘Thundercracker!’ Slipstream shrieked at him. ‘Help me, you egg!’

            Thundercracker did as he was told and jumped on top of Hatchet’s back. He wrapped his arms around his massive neck and started pulling out singed and cut wires. Hoping at least a couple of them would be important.

            With two Seekers weighing down on him, Hatchet’s movement slowed. He could no longer fight them back, focusing all of his energy into reaching the kneeling Strika so he could rip her brain module out. It was working.

\-----

            Obsidian looped through the sky, shooting down whatever aerial vehicle came his way. Any that got too close would fall into his grasp, plucked out of the air, and torn apart. He wasn’t a fan of the latter, but even he had to reload. He just didn’t like to touch. Especially gun-loving berserkers who spent more time polishing their weapons than they did themselves. His helicopter mode swerved around through the skies, shooting down another jet. That one seemed to have been one of Banzaitron’s, but that had no significance. They were to prevent anyone from reaching Optimus, friend or foe. All so that Starscream could be the one to kill him at a later date. He didn’t want to trust Starscream let alone Soundwave, but if this would lead Optimus into their possession, then he had to obey. He’d be glad once this entire mess was out of the way. Banzaitron didn’t seem to notice his air-troops being taken out, so there didn’t appear to have been of any consequence after all. One jet rammed straight into him, forcing him into his hovering robot form. ‘Dammit!’ The jet transformed, wrestling him in the sky.

            _‘Obsidian!’_ His transceiver buzzed in his audio-receptor.

            He just barely recognized the voice. ‘I’m busy, Slipstream! Go bother Thundercracker or—‘

            ‘Strika’s down and we can’t hold them back. We need you to—‘

            Obsidian’s hand shot through the jet’s spark-chamber. He blinked, looked down at the wreckage in his chest, and collapsed, falling into the chaos below. Obsidian transformed into his helicopter form and burst towards the battle below, carving his way around Banzaitron and Krok’s divisions before finally arriving in front of Strika. His consort lay bleeding and heaving, only barely clinging on to life.

            ‘Ah, Obsidian.’ Hatchet addressed as Thundercracker and Slipstream clung hold of him in hopes of weighing him down with their bodies. ‘The master strategist himself. I see you were fending off aerial forces from reaching Optimus. Presumably so that you or Starscream would have the opportunity to get to him after the fact. Am I right? A simplistic tactic for your like, but I cannot deny its effectiveness. You know, I am quite the strategist as well. I am here to eliminate Strika in order to remove the largest player on the battlefield. After that I am to return to Krok, and lead the bulk of our forces into Gutcruncher’s domain. With them eradicated, all that will be left is Banzaitron’s division, which I imagine will be suitably worn down once Bludgeon has cut them to pieces. Now, here we are, face to face. Shame about your bruiser, but I’m certain you can always get another one. People like us… we know to treat every mech or femme like the pawns they are. Easily replaceable. We, on the other hand, are two of a kind. After all, there are millions of soldiers, but leaders come in short supply—‘

            Obsidian’s fist penetrated Hatchet’s optical socket before he could finish, twisting and wrenching a clump of wires from the Dread’s face. Hatchet barely had time to react, staring at the strategist through his remaining optic in mild surprise. ‘Ah…’

            Obsidian let out a roar, leaping on top of the Dread’s massive body alongside Slipstream and Thundercracker, and stabbing through his broad chest with the tip of his tail. Hatchet struggled, but could barely move under the added weight. Screaming, Obsidian wrapped his arms around Hatchet’s neck, and pulled with all his might. Naturally, Obsidian was not nearly as strong as he used to be, but given the circumstance, his creaking limbs and tearing circuits were little more than an annoyance. His rage clouded his thoughts, and Hatchet’s head came loose. A loud shredding ripped across the battlefield, and Hatchet’s head detached from his body. Obsidian tossed the severed head into the air, and Slipstream leaped up, kicking the ball of metal like a soccer ball, sending it spinning somewhere over the horizon of soldiers.

            Thundercracker stood up, and moved over to Strika. He knelt next to her, and began examining her wounds. She was awake, at least. ‘Strika’s not looking so good.’ He said, barely audible enough for either Obsidian or Slipstream to hear. He turned his head around to face them. ‘She’s going to need medical attention, but I don’t think bringing out the Nemesis is going to be a good idea with Tidal Wave hovering over us. The ship can barely hold itself together, let alone withstand an assault of this magnitu—GRK.’

            Obsidian’s fingers wrapped around Thundercracker’s neck as he hoisted him above his insect-like head. ‘YOU WANT TO DIE?!’ He demanded, squeezing down.

            Thundercracker coughed, unable to form even a single vowel sound.

            ‘I’LL CUT YOU INTO LITTLE PIECES YOU PIECE OF PACIFISTIC TRASH! HOW DARE YOU EVEN BREATHE THE SAME AIR AS—‘

            Slipstream whipped her fist across the back of Obsidian’s head. His grip released. Thundercracker fell to his knees, coughing, and massaging his neck.

            ‘Quit losing your temper over meaningless trivialities,’ Slipstream said, the open side of her head exposing her brain module was exerting blue flames and electricity. She turned to Thundercracker. ‘Can Skywarp open a ground-bridge portal to this location?’

            ‘I… believe so.’

            ‘Then make it happen. She should be safe there.’ She turned to Obsidian. ‘Obsidian, if we want to prevent any of our adversaries from killing Prime before we do, I would advise that you retain your duties in the air.’

            ‘My duties.’ Obsidian blinked, looking around at the carnage as if he had just woken up in the middle of it. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

            Thundercracker and Obsidian stared at her. Slipstream began massaging her left optic, the one just under her broken skull. ‘What are you…’ she rubbed vigorously, until shavings of metal began to drift from her optical lids. ‘What… are you looking… at?’

            Obsidian spoke first. ‘Slipstream, you’re...’ Obsidian groped the air for words. ‘Functional.’

            ‘Your head is on fire,’ Thundercracker added.

            Which it was. ‘It is?’ Slipstream’s posture began to slacken. She stared at her open servo, blinking in surprise. ‘I have a hot… head.’

            ‘We’re losing her…’ Obsidian muttered.

            ‘I’m a hot-head… I’m a loose-cannon, Kowalski! Starscream’s gonna have your ass! I’m off the case!’ She began chuckling to herself.

            Thundercracker sighed. ‘She’s gone.’ He gestured to the air troops. ‘But she was right. You should get back to the fight. Slipstream and I will move Strika to safety. We’ll worry about her mental state later.’

            Obsidian nodded. ‘Yes, an excellent idea… I…’ The ground-bridge opened behind them. ‘I apologize, Thundercracker. I was only… I was upset that I couldn’t have prevented this.’

            Thundercracker and Slipstream dragged Strika’s body through the ground-bridge. Neither said a word.

            _Forget it._ Obsidian transformed into his helicopter form, boosting back into the smoke-wreathed sky.

\-----  
              
            Hatchet’s head landed at Krok’s feet. The strategist stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

            ‘Misfire says he spotted Obsidian do him in.’ Crankcase said to him, weapons flaring in all directions.

            Krok shook his head. ‘I was relying on him… I was…’ Hopelessness washed over him. He looked back at Bludgeon’s position, no longer able to see his leader in the flood of bodies. ‘I don’t…’  
            ‘Orders, Commander.’ Spinister growled over his radio. ‘What are we supposed to do?’

            Krok shook his head. Fires were brewing all around him. If they stayed where they were any longer, they would be swallowed in no time. He thought about what Hatchet would do; what Bludgeon would do. _Frag it, Krok. It’s time to take charge._ ‘All troops! Crescent formation! Proceed with the plan of attack—march through Gutcruncher’s left flank and ambush them in the trenches. Spinister, Misfire, Fly-die— perform manoeuvre 46, draw their fire to you while we pull the knife on them from behind. Decepticons, rise up!’

            A loud hurrah boomed around him as they began to move to cover. _Now to see how hard this bombs._

\-----

            Razor-Sharp grinned. He was crawling on the ground behind the raging martial-artists. Unseen amidst the adrenaline of the fire-fight. Killing Bludgeon… if anything was going to give him more respect in the Secret Service, this ought to be it. In the age of Megatron, there had been thousands of bounties submitted to kill the renegade leader of the Mayhem Attack Squad. Rising through the ranks at such a quick rate had given Bludgeon the illusion of something greater, but alas, that only put him on the DJD’s list with the thousands of other delusionals that thought they were better than they were. He readied his steel. It was a choking-based weapon. One that wrapped around the throat and took the air out of them. As Cybertronians did not require air outside of cooling and ventilation, choking did little more than wound the section connecting their head to their body. The choking steel he held in his hand was made specifically for decapitating enemies. And not even Cybertronians could live long without a head.

            Banzaitron twisted through the air, landing on Bludgeon’s side and delivering a quick kick to his gut, sending the samurai barreling over. ‘Played Academy Lobbing y’know.’ Banzaitron crowed. ‘I could’ve gone pro if I hadn’t joined your stupid religious kung-fu bullshit.’

            Bludgeon spat, thrusting his sword, and dragging the blade across Banzaitron’s upper arms, leaving cuts that dribbled with pink Energon. ‘Your lack of discipline and ignorance to the true faith will only result in your immediate—‘

            Banzaitron karate-chopped Bludgeon’s temple, sending his head cracked askew, and his mind racing. ‘Blah, blah, blah. None of that crap matters when you’re a kickass son of a gun capable of crushing the so-called master of metallikato beneath his boot!’ He delivered an uppercut to Bludgeon’s chin, sending strands of loose wiring writhing through the air. ‘You don’t @#$% with this Service Director!’ Before Bludgeon’s feet could touch the ground, Banzaitron grabbed him by the helm and drop-kicked him square in the face, sending him stumbling back. Before he could gather his bearings, Banzaitron jumped aside, and Firebeast took his place.

            That was the cue. Razor-Sharp leaped from the ground, and sprinted towards Bludgeon. Even if his boss was a no-good arrogant piece of trash, he did come up with some positively evil ideas. Firebeast was meant to play one surprise attack, while Razor-Sharp played the second. Layering one surprise on the next. Surely Bludgeon would never see it coming. Firebeast charged him from his left flank. The black Decepticon huffed, as if shooting flames. Not that he could. The rhinoceros had a thing for the Dinobot Slag for whatever reason, and sought to emulate him in terms of mannerisms and personality to the letter. As Firebeast got close Razor-Sharp made his move, brandishing his steel and diving at Bludgeon.

            ‘So that’s how it is.’

            ‘Eh?’ Razor-Sharp looked down, to find his arms completely detached from his body. Bludgeon had sliced them off. _What? But Firebeast was supposed to—_

Firebeast laid dead on the ground, Bludgeon’s foot pressing down on an exposed brain-module. The piece of processing popped under his heel.

            ‘You’re…’ Razor-Sharp felt oil bubbling up from the bottom of his throat. ‘You’re fast.’ He looked down to see Bludgeon’s blade piercing through his chest.

            ‘Of course I am. I am the master of Metallikato.’ He sneered. ‘Regardless if Banzaitron claims to be faster…’ He made a single movement, and Razor-Sharp’s head split in half. ‘The movements of you… average Cybertronians, might as well be in slow motion.’

            Shocked to see two of his men torn apart before his very eyes, Banzaitron sprinted towards the samurai with his fists raised. Even if he was better than Bludgeon in every way, Bludgeon still had the advantage of being faster than any of his mechs combined. Getting the drop on him didn’t appear to work unless it involved shooting your own subordinate in the back. Banzaitron wiped some residual liquid from his optics. _Dammit, they were stupid._ _It was Firebeast and Razor-Sharp’s fault for screwing up_. _They died because of their own problems, not mine!_ He prepared to deliver a blow right across Bludgeon’s face, only for the samurai to do something completely different. He transformed.

            In tank-form, Bludgeon fired a concentrated blast from his main cannon, sending Banzaitron flying back with a hole in his chest. ‘If neither of us is going to honour our battle, Banzaitron, then why should we kid ourselves?’ His turret rotated, and began firing. Revolver was sniped out of the air, his head springing off his body by a wire, and his body crumpling into the ground. The tank accelerated forward, knocking Sniffer to his knees and proceeding to tread over him, crushing his round body under the weight of his tank treads. Turbo found himself crawling on his hands and knees, desperately trying to drag himself away from the tank. Accelerating at full-speed, Bludgeon transformed and drove his blade through his spark, killing him instantly. ‘Anyone else?!’ He beckoned. ‘Does anyone else think they can challenge me? That they can snuff my spark? My soul has already been sold!’

            Treadshot transformed into his gun mode, shrinking down and landing deftly between Axer’s fingers. Axer cried out as he fired upon Bludgeon, but the samurai only laughed. What bullets did strike him caused barely a dent, while the rest were deflected by his blade.

            ‘Slag.’ Axer cursed, then transformed, carrying Treadshot inside his cockpit. The bounty hunter drove, accelerating as far away from the Samurai as he could.

            Bludgeon considered chasing him down, only to turn his attention to Banzaitron. But the usurper was nowhere to be found. Still, perhaps he wasn’t meant to fight him. Had he kept it up, Bludgeon would have lost. The fact that someone like Banzaitron was holding such power was… disconcerting. No matter. Bludgeon had greater plans. He transformed into his tank mode, and began accelerating towards the city, firing a path towards the Citadel. There was no doubt in his mind that Optimus would be there. After all, the Dark Gods hadn’t lied to him yet.

\----

            ‘ _Urrk._ ’

            ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Bugly roared. ‘He’s still not dead?!’

            ‘Starscream’s always been hard to kill.’ Crowbar muttered. ‘I didn’t think it was a physical thing, though. I just thought he was a coward.’

            ‘He’d be dead by now if we weren’t constantly getting shot at!’

            ‘He’d be dead by now if you actually carried a gun!’

            ‘Yes, well, you are the one who wasted his ammunition on Banzaitron.’

            ‘What did you expect me to do? _Not_ shoot back at the guys who are shooting at us?’

            Starscream could barely move. His body was beaten to a pulp, and any attempt to stand was countered by one of Bugly’s massive fists. And that just made things harder for his next attempt. He remained still as his self-repair system did what it could. He would have to wait until Strika or Obsidian came to his rescue. He wouldn’t hear the rest of it. But then… what if neither of them came to the rescue? Strika didn’t respect him. Obsidian hated him. He knew Thundercracker longer than anyone, but he _had_ been harsh to him in the past. He knew Thundercracker deserved it, of course, but that didn’t mean he’d be forgiven for his actions.

            ‘I actually expected you to have killed Starscream with your bare fists,’ Crowbar said.

            ‘Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to kill someone without a weapon? Let alone a Cybertronian? You can’t choke them, you can’t have them _bleed out._ You have to keep hitting him until a hole is carved to the brain module or the spark. And—and, someone like Starscream, who has mercilessly tampered their body with upgrades, would require an expedient amount of force applied to his exoskeleton.’

            ‘So you’re not strong enough to kill a guy who’s basically dead already.’

            ‘I am plenty “strong” enough, Crowbar, I merely need the time and materials to rip his spark from his chest. However, getting shot at from all directions makes doing so rather… difficult.’

            Starscream lost all his vision out of one eye. The other seemed to get narrower and narrower. Bodies were littered around him, stacked in collected, concentrated heaps. He wasn’t sure if he was in a trench, or if Bugly was using the body-stacks as strategic cover. Out of all their broken and wounded comrades, Bugly and Crowbar only seemed to talk about him. _Lucky me._

‘Well, as long as we maintain our position we should outlast this, eh Bugly? Spinister said he spotted Strika go down, and Krok’s off to deal with Gutcruncher. It’ll only be a matter of time.’

            _Strika’s dead?_ Suddenly, Starscream felt a lot more helpless than he initially thought.

            Bugly frowned at the sky. ‘What is that?’

            ‘What is what?’

\-----

            High above the battle, the Ark’s cargo bay gaped open, and a large, black figure leaped out. Ironhide dived down from above, cannons charging to maximum. His shoulders were outfitted with massive electro-cannons, his fingers tightened around a pair of path-blasters, and his chest was crossed with chains of bullet-cases. He let out a roar, and unleashed his full firepower. Lasers and missiles thundered from above, falling down upon the battle-field below, sending several surprised troops scurrying to safety with others not so lucky. A parachute opened from his back and slowed his descent. Though perhaps not to his immediate liking. Ironhide crashed feet-first onto the ground, shocks running up his legs.

            ‘Who the hell are you?’

            Ironhide turned around to see Bugly and Crowbar staring at him through blank optics.

            The question had a simple enough answer. ‘AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!’ Ironhide roared, activating every piece of weaponry on his person and firing a wave of destructive firepower in Bugly’s direction.

Missiles tore into his torso, and lasers singed his armor. One missile struck his shoulder-joint, tearing his arm straight off of his body. The rest of the onslaught exploded into his chest, sending the mystic barrelling back and crashing into the stacked pile of corpses. Crowbar blinked at Bugly, then turned to run.

            Before he could get far, a missile fired from Starscream’s chest compartment, striking him in the back, and sending him crumbling into the dirt. Starscream began to rise, then stopped. Ironhide was standing over him, guns trained on his head. _So this is how it all ends. Not with a whimper, but with a screaming mad-mech with a gun fetish._ Ironhide dropped his path blaster, and offered a hand. _Hah?_

            Starscream grabbed the outstretched servo, and pulled himself to his feet.

            ‘We’re surrounded,’ Ironhide growled. ‘Optimus says your main objective is to take out Bludgeon and deal with us at a later point. Any truth to that?’

            ‘Possibly.’ Starscream activated his weaponry. ‘But what makes you think I won’t kill you now while I have the chance?’

            ‘Because, as shocking as this may sound, even when strapped with all this badass weaponry, I can’t kill all of these Decepticreeps alone. And, shockingly, you aren’t going to survive without some help. And I can assure you, no one else is coming to help you.’

            ‘Hrrn…’ _A team up… great._ Starscream lowered his guns. ‘I’m going to kill you when this is all over. Just a warning not to get too comfy.’

            A shell blew apart a clump of bodies. Springing the two into actions. Their backs touched, and their weaponry flared. Missiles and lasers fired from the pair of heavy-hitters. Sending the advancing forces scattering in all directions. Those that got close enough were quickly dispatched, be it by a wicked left hook from Ironhide, or a bisection by one of Starscream’s razors. A blast tore through their left flank, and a figure emerged from the smoke.

            ‘Incoming!’ Starscream roared, training his null-ray’s at the figure.

            ‘Easy!’ Ironhide spat. ‘It’s Jazz.’

            ‘I remain without a reason not to shoot.’

            Ironhide rubbed the barrel of his cannon against the small of his back. ‘I’ll _give_ you a reason not to shoot!’

            Jazz somersaulted from vehicle-mode into robot, knuckles wet with fluid. ‘Hey, ‘Hide. There a reason Starscream’s jiving with you like it’s nobody’s business or…?’

            ‘Similar objectives. Believe me, not shooting him is harder than not-shooting Blackarachnia.’

            Jazz frowned up at the Aerospace Commander. ‘You think we can trust hi—‘

            ‘No,’ Starscream said.

            ‘Oh. ‘Least that’s out of the way.’

            Ironhide reloaded a path-blaster before continuing his cover. ‘I spotted Bludgeon during my air-drop. He’s on the warpath to the—‘ He sneered at Starscream before continuing. ‘He knows where Optimus is.’

            Starscream sneered. ‘Whatever. You know I’m not fit enough to chase after him. Even if I did know where in the city he was hiding, I wouldn’t go after him.’

            ‘Can we really take your word for it?’ Jazz asked.

            ‘No.’

            ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ironhide growled. ‘I’ll make sure Starscream doesn’t kill anyone on our side. You get over there and help Optimus. Bludgeon will slaughter him if he’s on his own, but if you can get there before he does—‘

            ‘We might have a chance. Gotcha, be there in a jiff.’ The guardsman transformed, flipping into his speedster mode and blazing into the smoke.

            ‘Why does he _talk_ like that?’

            ‘Honestly, it’s one of those things you just don’t question.’

            ‘It’s annoying.’

            ‘You’re annoying.’

            A grenade blew apart their last line of defense, and the two resumed firing their expensive pay-loads at the forces closing in on them. The smoke was making it more and more difficult to aim.

\-----

            Racing through the bellowing smoke, Jazz heard a familiar gurgle, and transformed. He ducked away from the whizzing missiles and fell into a trench, there he found the source.

            Bugly raised his wounded head, he was lying on his back, arms draped over his chest as if in silent prayer. ‘You…’

            ‘Yeah… me.’

            ‘You off to kill Bludgeon?’

            ‘Killing’s a bit extreme aint-it?’ He rubbed his shoulder. ‘But… yeah. If that’s what we gotta do, that’s what we gotta do. Don’t mean I like that things have come down to this, but…’

            ‘It’s fine…’ Bugly leaned his head back. ‘Kill him. You’re better than him. I can sense it.’

            Jazz knelt down next to him, frowning.

            ‘I know.’ Bugly nodded. ‘You don’t believe me. Sensing… its nonsense, isn’t it? But it is my ability. Every spark has a specific aura. Bludgeon’s is writhing with dark energy, yours is brighter than anyone I know.’

            ‘I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think people can be defined with “light” and “dark”.’

            ‘And I agree. Everyone carries good and bad in them. More the latter of which, but light does not exactly define “goodness”. It can represent purification, and enlightenment, but also blindness and relinquishment. Just as darkness can represent sobriety and courage.’ He swallowed. ‘Your spark will lead to something incredible, and beautiful, and I hope to see it happen.’

            ‘’Fraid it doesn’t look like you’ll get your wish.’

            Bugly chuckled. ‘Oh, I know how this looks… but I have ways.’ Bugly’s chest opened, revealing his spark chamber. Before Jazz could ask, a beam of light escaped Bugly’s spark, shooting into the sky, only to crash back down into his chest.

            Jazz covered his visor from the aftershocks of the display. ‘What the—‘

            Bugly rose to his feet. ‘Just as Sunstorm had his abilities, I have my own. I sapped the spark energy from a few of my comrades. They won’t be needing it anyhow.’ He looked to the smoky sky and transformed. ‘Continue your training, Jazz. Become something beautiful.’ Bugly nodded to them, stared up, and ascended into the sky, disappearing into wreathes of black smoke.

            ‘Freaky…’ Jazz muttered, dumbfounded. His blinked behind his visor. ‘Wait, what am I doing? Prime needs me.’ He transformed back into a speedster and roared down the charred battlefield and into the city. He needed to get to the Citadel before Bludgeon did, else everything would have been for nothing.

\-----

            Gutcruncher and Charger drove through the alleyways in vehicle-mode. The sounds of muffled gunfire pulsing through their audio-receptors.

            ‘There he is.’ Gutcruncher said, gesturing to the yellow jet at the end of the passage. He transformed into his robot mode, and began jogging towards their escape. ‘Stratatonic! Fire up the thrusters.

            But the jet remained refused to move an inch.

            ‘Stratatonic?’ Gutcruncher squinted at him. ‘You better be sleeping…’ He kicked the jet, only for it to barrel over, and onto its side.

            Charger transformed next to him, and began examining the motionless flyer. ‘Oh no…’

            ‘What? He’s dead?!’

            ‘Yes. It appears that someone went to great lengths to snuff him while he was still in vehicle mode.’

            Gutcruncher scowled, clenching his fists in frustration. ‘But why would anyone—‘

            Stratatonic’s body exploded.

\-----

            Fulcrum peered around the corner, grinning. ‘Looks like they walked right into the trap. Just as you said they would, Krok.’

            Krok finally allowed himself to exhale before turning to the two dozen troops standing guard behind him. ‘Now—onward! While the trenches are leaderless—eliminate what remains of Gutcruncher’s unit!’  
            They let out a roar, and two-dozen battle-ready Decepticons charged down the alleyway from which Gutcruncher came.  
            Finback clapped Krok on the back. ‘Excellent work, lad. Keep it up.’  
            Krok calmed his breathing as he chased after the others. _One step at a time, Krok, one step at a time._

\-----

Gutcruncher groaned in pain as the heels of several Decepticons pressed against his charred body, digging him further into the dirt. He should have died. With Stratatonic gone there was no hope for escape. And his mechs… if they continued down the alleyway then they’d be led directly to the trenches. They’ll have slaughtered everyone. Naturally he’d have shrugged it off, but now it was clear he never stood a chance. There was no escape… no future. He shuddered as the last of Krok’s forces trampled his skull. _Charger._

            He lifted his large, meaty arms, and began crawling. Wherever which way he was going wouldn’t matter. ‘Charger…’ he muttered. ‘Please tell me you’re alive.’ He lifted his head to find that one of his eyes were pierced by a shard of shrapnel. The other was sparking profusely. ‘Charger?’

            A green body laid on its side a few meters away from him. ‘Charger… dammit… wakeup.’ When he got no response, he crawled over to the body and began shaking it. ‘Please… out of everyone to die, it can’t be the only person I give half a slag about.’

            Charger coughed up a wad of oil and rolled over, revealing his arms to have been completely detached from his body. ‘Aye…’

            _Thank the maker._ ‘We’re screwed, Charger.’

            ‘I’m afraid that you’re right.’

            Gutcruncher activated his comm-link. ‘Take-Off… report.’

            The sounds of screams greeted him over the other line _. ‘Take-Off here. I’m playing dead.’  
_             _We aren’t the only ones, then._ That wasn’t a good sign. ‘Crap. What’s happening?’

            _‘They just… started killing everybody. A few of their fly-boys got the drop on us, and killed a few of the guys, but it didn’t seem so bad that we couldn’t handle it. Then the rest of their squadron just started appearing in our trenches and… I think I might be the only one left. So that’s bad. Guess it could be worse.’_

            ‘You?’ Gutcruncher muttered in disbelief. ‘Out of everyone who is dead. _You_ survived?!’

_‘Yeah, be rude, why don’t you? Anyway. I think… I think Roadgrabber is still out there. I hope he is, at least. Last I saw of him was when he buggered off to get at Tornado and never came back. So… he might be okay. But then—’_

            ‘Whatever, just... just get out of there. Converge with us when you get the chance. I’ll try and contact Roadgrabber to do the same.’

_‘Sure thing, boss. Say, how do you expect—’_

            Gutcruncher hung up, and sighed, he jerked his head over to his second. ‘Come on, Charger. I think I know where we’ll be safe.’

            Before Charger could assent, a missile crashed into the buildings around them, as Spinister hovered passed. ‘Ay!’ Absolute shock spilled from the helicopter’s tone. ‘These two are still alive!’

            Charger and Gutcruncher transformed. ‘Drive!’ Shrieked the mathematician. The pair of grounders rushed into the city’s dark, swallowing alleyways.

\-----

            Optimus gazed down upon the war torn battlefield, shaking uncontrollably. So many dead. So many dying. Bodies littered the area like small land masses floating on an ocean of char and visceral acids. Those who still lived scrambled around, shooting and clawing at each other like savages. How many were there, he wondered. There must have been around fifty to sixty deaths numbered that day. Screams persisted to echo from below, dying down only slightly as the battle reached its final moments like a casualty slowly losing their grip on life. He did this. His plan was one of attack, and he knew full well there would be a battle, but he could never prepare for the slaughter that would fall in his wake. It was silly. Here he was, sat on top of the Citadel, hiding with a sniper-rifle he could barely use, allowing his enemies to snuff out each other in gruesome combat. He just watched, like a coward, like an upper-class snob sneering as the empties scuffled and tore out their wire-strands. Here he was, like Prowl. He wondered if things would have been better had he simply given himself up. He wondered if there would be less carnage should he simply cease to exist. Those thoughts always disturbed him, but he couldn’t break free from the feeling that it was all too horribly true. His disgust began to subside as his greatest need became not for the violence to end, but for it to finish, quickly, and painlessly. _Best stick the needle in, and pretend it doesn’t hurt like death,_ Ratchet once told him.

            His communicator buzzed. A suitable distraction. He pressed against the side of his head, patching himself through. ‘What is it, Blackarachnia?’

            _‘You seriously don’t know?’_

            He looked around, frowned, and turned her attention to the Tidal Wave. ‘No.

            _‘I can see you looking right at me, how can you not—I’m out of ammo, dummy! That means no more raining death from above!’_

            ‘Oh. I see now. Yeah, I thought things were getting quiet, but I just couldn’t put my finger on—‘

            _‘Listen, I’m going to get down, because right now I’m a sitting duck up here, and lolling around waiting for things to sort themselves out isn’t going to help anyone. I’m just going to land and—whu-oh.’_

            ‘What did you do?’ But the only sound that escaped his communicator was a light static. ‘Famous last words…’ he muttered.

            High above, the Tidal Wave began to lurch to its side. Ammunition and supplies slowly rolled off its deck and rained onto the battlefield below. His communicator crackled again.

            ‘Who is this?’

_‘It’s still me.’_

            ‘Blackarachnia? What happened?’

            _‘You know how I am told never to pilot the Ark, or, well, anything ever? Well, it turns out I hit some wrong buttons and—‘_

            The Tidal Wave crashed into the ground below, collapsing and imploding as it touched the metal-strewn battlefield. Screams filled the air as several of Bludgeon’s men fell crushed beneath the fiery wreck.

            Optimus massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘Blackarachnia…’

            _‘It’s okay! I jumped out at the last minute. Might have broken a leg, but I have seven more where that came from!’_ She laughed at her own joke, much to Prime’s chagrin.

            ‘Focus! What about those prisoners you kept captured aboard the ship? What about Cannonball’s men?’

            _‘Oh. Yeah. Whoops.’_

            Optimus’ head fell into his hands. ‘Blackarachnia, I can’t believe you.’

            _‘Oh come off it. This is war, we’re killing everyone anyway. Don’t make me look like the bad-guy here.’_

            Optimus sighed. ‘I… know. I know. It is war. Did Ironhide make it to the ground safely?’

            _‘I saw him land in the middle of Bugly’s unit, but he seems to be doing fine. A little worn out, but fine. Starscream’s with him.’_

            Prime’s stomach writhed with grease. ‘Starscream?’

            _‘They’re doing the cliché good and evil team-up thing. I think they both know they can’t hold the others off on their own, so they’re doing the even more cliché back-to-back bad-asses routine.’_

            ‘What else is happening down there?’

            _‘Gutcruncher’s unit has been completely decimated, and Starscream’s unit is gone too. Probably fell the same way.’_

            Optimus gazed up, spotting Obsidian coursing through the sky; preventing anyone from escaping the battle. ‘Obsidian’s still alive.’

            _‘Darn.’_ But she paid it no further attention. _‘Banzaitron is struggling with his guys. They are still alive, but barely with the same confidence. They’re dealing with what’s left of Cannonball’s guys, though… I think they’re going to lose. Not to the pirates, I mean. Krok lost a few guys, but he’s moving his squadron to intercept Banzaitron. No doubt he’ll kill them all. That leaves just Starscream, so, frankly, I think Bludgeon’s going to win. Not with many bots left, of course, but thanks to Krok, he’s going to win.’_

            Optimus shut his eyes. Even after everything, he was still going to fail. ‘Speaking of which, where _is_ Bludgeon in all this.’

            _‘Oh yeah, forgot to mention that. Last I saw he was blasting his way through the barricade and making his way into the city. I can’t seem to find him now.’_  
  


            ‘What? Why didn’t you tell me that in the fir-‘

            A stray cannon-shot clipped the side of his helm, tearing off his antenna and sending it clattering off the side of the Citadel; into the charred city below. He turned his head to see the outline of Bludgeon standing at the other end of the Citadel’s peak. He stared at him, the barrel of his tank cannon smoking a grey plume.

            ‘Prime!’ He bellowed. ‘Time’s up!’

            Optimus spun around and fired a shot from his rifle. The bullet flew past the side of Bludgeon’s helm, missing him completely.

            Bludgeon let out a sigh as he approached. ‘You won’t get away with this, Prime. Justice is going to be rightfully executed whether you like it or not.’

            Optimus lowered his rifle. ‘I did what I had to— to live.’

            ‘And look at where that got you.’ He gestured to the burning city, reaching from the Citadel to the east gate. ‘You’re a bringer of death, Optimus.’

            ‘I never wanted this.’

            ‘Neither did I. Am I to become leader, the Cybertronian race would be set under a single power. A legitimate power, not the sort of faux fate your Autobot Command subjects you to.’

            ‘It ruined my life,’ Optimus was forced to admit.

            ‘Under my power, there would be no bloodshed. We would be a warrior race, but only if provoked. Otherwise we would have achieved a very real sense of peace and unity. War would end with the Autobots, and those that would disagree would be eradicated. Did you know that the Galaxy is facing one of the largest crises in history at the moment? In search of you, the Decepticon Empire has finally decided to expand. Every guild that wants to become something more has begun conquering, and Autobot command can barely do a thing to quell it. Millions are dying this second. Millions wondering why. Do you know why?’

            Optimus stared at him. Faceplate locked in place, and fingers tightening around the cold-steeled grip of his rifle.

            ‘It’s because Optimus Prime still out there. Alive.’

            ‘It’s not my fault…’ he muttered.

            ‘Of course it isn’t. You never chose to be this way. But we never get the opportunity to choose anything. Everything is the will of Primus alone. Fate is what leads us to where we are. Follow your fate, and fortune meets you, those who don’t deserve to burn. But I can tell you one thing regarding your fate. You will die. And when you do, the bloodshed will cease. As long as I am the one to kill you, it will cease.’ He offered his hand. ‘You can end this bloodshed. You can ensure this kind of infighting never happens again. When leadership is taken, war ends, the conquerors stop, and the Galaxy will know peace.’

            ‘Peace… doesn’t exist.’

            ‘Of course not. No the way people perceive peace, anyway. But between the presence of war and the absence of it, things would undoubtedly be superior should the bounty reach its end. If you die here, the war ends. The Vestial Imperium gets to do whatever they want. The Autobots can do whatever they want, and the Decepticons remain immortal. You prolonging your lifespan only makes the universe suffer longer.’

            Optimus stared, then faced the carnage occurring below. ‘I could have prevented this.’

            ‘Tell me, Optimus, what good have you brought the Universe in your time as the murderer of Megatron? That’s rhetorical, I already know. Nothing. Your encounter with Snaptrap resulted in the deletion of his memory. Your visit on Talon IV resulted in the Nemesis murdering over half of the population’s people, and now, with your little “plan”, multiple Decepticon guilds are about to be extinguished. Never to be revived again.’

            Optimus stared at his rifle. ‘Bludgeon. I’m sorr—‘

            Bludgeon whipped out his blade. ‘Don’t apologize to me. Primus will judge whether you are worth redemption. Before I take your life, please, tell me. Did you kill Sunstorm?’

            Optimus frowned. ‘Who?’

            Bludgeon grimaced. As he thought, his master’s death was Starscream’s doing. ‘Then all is forgiven.’

            A slender figure jumped onto Bludgeon’s back, arms wrapped around his neck and wrestling him to the floor. ‘Don’t listen to him Prime!’ Jazz bellowed. ‘He wants to create a dogmatic police state out of the Decepticons! He’ll kill anyone that disagrees. That’s no good!’

            Optimus blinked, and charged forward, rifle raised. ‘I can’t die yet!’ He bellowed, firing a round at the Samurai. ‘Their deaths have to mean something first!’

            Bludgeon deflected the bullet with his blade while suplexing Jazz hard onto his back. ‘You’re still trying to convince yourself it is all worth it, aren’t you?’ He activated his tank cannon, firing a blast at Optimus and missing completely.

            Optimus stopped in front of him raising his rifle, and using it as a shield against Bludgeon’s blade.

            ‘I never was good with projectiles.’ Bludgeon explained. ‘And yet I was born a tank. What mischievous devils were in charge of that decision, I do not know.’

            ‘Ironically, I was never too good with guns either.’ Optimus replied, breaking away from Bludgeon’s sword-strike. He stood inches away from Bludgeon. Their expressions locked in a short reprieve between blows. Optimus felt the oil boiling inside of him. He felt the energy in his spark pulsing violently. He glared up at the samurai, voice low and somber. ‘But from this distance, neither of us are going to miss, are we?’

            In unison, Optimus whipped out his rifle, and Bludgeon his sword. Optimus fired a rifle round into Bludgeon’s head, knocking his helmet off of his exo-skull and creating a smoking hold off the top of his cranium. At the same time, Bludgeon drew his blade, slicing across Prime’s body from his hip to his upper arm. They both went tumbling back. Bludgeon gripped his face, smoke rising from it, a deathly scream escaping his hallowed skull. Optimus was almost certain he hadn’t been hit until gobs of oil escaped his lips and dripped down his chin. Where his sword grazed him, Energon flowed. The plexi-glass on his chest shattered as one, and a thin line appeared across his inner chest cavity, gushing pinks and blacks. Where it met his shoulder, a gap emerged. His arm clunked against the floor, dripping with visceral matter, and sparkling white electricity where its nervous wires met their ends. His arm had been completely sliced off.

            ‘Prime!’ Jazz cried out.

            But Optimus had greater matters at hand. Bludgeon recovered only slightly. Optimus knew it would never be as simple as simply “sniping” Bludgeon. He knew it would have taken more than a sniper shot to the head to assassinate the Decepticon Leader. All that layered pretender armour made assassinations nigh impossible to pull off in general. Which was why he needed the rebellion to occur. That said, the rifle’s shot took a good portion of the Pretender’s armour off. His crumbling skull remained, optics glaring through his dark eye-sockets, one now nothing more than a crescent with the removal of much of his crania. Optimus fired another bolt which was quickly deflected by his blade. The recoil caused a gushing of liquid to rise in his throat, and his mind to numb.

            Bludgeon charged forward as swift as a fox, but Jazz was swifter. The guardsman’s nunchaku clashed with his blade, wrapping around the handle and yanking it from his grip. In turn, Bludgeon swung his fist, making contact with Jazz’s skull and sending chips and slivers of his helmet dashing across the ground. Jazz fell to his knees, swinging his nunchaku in defense and clashing with a follow-up hit. Bludgeon stepped back, preparing a third strike only for a sniper-shot to crash through his shoulder, sending chunks of armour, as well as one of his flags; bellowing and burning to the floor.

            Not wasting the chance, Jazz delivered a swift uppercut across Bludgeon’s chin, momentarily getting tangled in his wires as he did. Bludgeon kicked the smaller Autobot away and regained his blade for another strike, only to receive a second sniper-shot to his chest. This time he was prepared for it, and thrust forward. Jazz rolled onto his side, dodging the blade, but leaving himself open. Before Bludgeon could land a hit on him, a massive weight crashed into his chest.

            It was Optimus, driving at full speed in his truck-form. Bludgeon tried to grab hold of the vehicle only to be thrown back by the weight of the accelerating truck. He landed on his back, bracing for the feeling of concussion that comes with banging your head against the ground. Instead it never came. His head hovered over air. He had landed at the very edge of the Citadel’s peak.

            Optimus transformed into robot mode, grabbing hold of Bludgeon’s wrists and struggling to keep him in place. Before Jazz could follow his example, Bludgeon grinned. ‘Idiots.’ He burst forward, his strength overwhelming Optimus’s and sending the small Prime spinning into Jazz; crashing to the ground. Jazz laid pinned under the larger Prime, wriggling to break free as his leader gathered his bearings.

            On his feet, Bludgeon readied his blade and laughed. ‘Alright, Prime; you’ve convinced me. You’re not actually a demon. You’re only a vessel for the end. Maximo was right about you…’

            Optimus lifted himself off of Jazz before coughing up a wad of oil. ‘Maximo’s a religious figure in the Primal Apothesis.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re right, Jazz, he would not make a very good ruler.’

            ‘Wonder what gave you that idea?’

            The pair of Autobots rose to their feet, standing at the tip of Bludgeon’s shadow.

            ‘Any ideas, Jazz?’ Optimus muttered between gasps.

            ‘If you’re willing to trust me, I do.’

            Optimus dropped his rifle, then pulled out his axe from his subspace compartment. ‘Anything goes.’

            ‘Then follow my lead, and whatever you do, don’t stop moving for an instant.’

            Bludgeon swallowed a gob of visceral liquid that had been leaking into his maw. He was getting beaten rather badly, all things considered. But he couldn’t lose. Two Autobots against the Master of Metallikato was never a good combination. It was time to finish this. They were wide open, and it would only take a run-through of Prime’s chest to end it permanently. Then, he’d reach his goal. Then, maybe, the galaxy could be purified. Maybe, the gods would finally let him rest. He thrust his blade forward.

            Jazz and Optimus broke apart. Optimus transformed into his truck mode and accelerated nose-first towards Bludgeon while Jazz leaped up, flailing his nunchaku wildly.

            With both attacking at once, Bludgeon couldn’t help but hesitate. To attack Optimus would mean a direct hit from Jazz, and a hit to his already fractured skull could result in some serious injury if not death, while if he were to attack Jazz…

            There was no time to think, Bludgeon side-slashed at Jazz, slicing clean through his mid-section from rib to waist, and separating his left leg from his body. Jazz cringed, but continued his flight into Bludgeon, liquid spilling from the loose-wires of his severed leg.

            Optimus rammed into Bludgeon’s chest, forcing him to stumble and back away.

            ‘Hah, your plan was to tackle me? Your plan was to tackle the Master of Mettali—‘

            Bludgeon’s foot backed onto dead air, and the Master of Metallikato’s body tilted back. Jazz’s body pressed into him, sending Bludgeon, Optimus, and him off the side of the Citadel, and falling through the air.

            Optimus transformed mid-air, grasping at the air around him as he plummeted towards the Energon reservoir below. He was not at all keen on taking a second dive.

            ‘Optimus!’ Jazz cried out, diving through the air towards him. He reached out a servo. ‘Grab my hand!’

            Terrified, Optimus reached aimlessly for the Autobot’s hand. It was almost impossible to focus while falling out of the sky. Relief sank into him as he grabbed hold of the Guardsman’s warm servo. ‘I’ve got you!’ Optimus called out.

            Jazz spun around, activated the grapple-function on his nunchaku, and aimed for the Citadel. The grapple fired, and latched onto the top-most railing.

            ‘Hang tight!’ Jazz shouted as the grapple reeled them back upwards at nauseating speeds.

            Bludgeon felt the wind rush over his armour. This was pathetic, how could he die like this? No doubt he would hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces. He shut his optics. Perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps this was the only way to be free of the gods’ control. Perhaps Optimus was a demon, or perhaps he was someone destined for something greater. No doubt Bludgeon was to become a martyr, even if this wasn’t his preferred means of death, at least he would have reached it at all. He smirked. After all, say one thing about Bludgeon, say he—

            Bludgeon’s spinal strut cracked as his back smashed into a large warp in the city’s structure. He howled in agony as liquid flooded his optics. _This city really is a bitch._ His body span around in the air and splashed into the reservoir, stinging his every circuit.

            _He’s deceiving you! You’re still alive! You have an obligation to tear out Optimus Prime’s spark and become leader of the Decepticons! But the demon tricked you! The demon, Optimus, wants you to think you deserve this. He’s laughing at you right now!_

‘OPTIMUS!’ Bludgeon roared, activating his tank cannon. ‘I’M GOING TO RIP OUT YOUR SPARK AND CRUSH IT BETWEEN MY TEETH! I—I’ll KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED AND FORCE THEM TO WATCH AS I DISSECT YOUR OPTICAL SENSORS! I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU SUFFER A THOUSAND HELLS AS I—!’ Bludgeon fired his cannon. A decision which, Bludgeon realized too late, is something one should ever do as they are surrounded by pure Energon.

\-----

Gutcruncher stumbled. _Just a little more._ He told himself. He had gone blind in both eyes now, when he reached at his face he felt nothing but rust. Charger guided him further, though he didn’t think he was going to survive. Krok’s air troops were hunting them down, firing waves of missiles that sent him flying in every which way. He would get up to move again, only for Charger to spin him into another direction and guide him forward. He almost wanted to wonder why it even mattered anymore. Everyone else was dead. ‘Just a little more,’ Charger told him. ‘And we’ll be safe.’

A loud explosion crackled through the sky. It lasted for minutes, and when it ended, Gutcruncher had to wonder whether he had been engulfed in it. His only reassurance was Charger’s hand squeezing his shoulder.

\-----

Krok surveyed the wreckage as Crankcase approached him, his troops were now mindlessly wandering around the featureless battlefield, wiping away ash and spillages from their frames and mending whatever injuries they had come to acquire. ‘Crankcase, report.’

            ‘Misfire and the others are tracking down Gutcruncher if not his body. Otherwise his entire squadron appears to have been effectively eradicated. Who’da thunk?’

            ‘Anything else?’

            ‘Banzaitron’s team has begun to pull back. I mean, I say “team” but there’s a very small few of them left. I honestly don’t think they’ll be a problem any longer. The only fighting that’s still going on is a small group led by Starscream. Apparently he’s still kicking.’

            ‘Cannonball’s dealing with them?’

            ‘Yeah, but, like us, most of that group got wiped out when the traitor—Blackarachnia, I mean, kamikaze’d the Tidal Wave into us.’

            Krok nodded. ‘Good, we’ll merge with Cannonball’s group and eliminate Starscream. After that we’ll have won.’

            Crankcase shrugged. ‘Never get a break, do we?’

            ‘I’m afraid not—‘

            The explosion ripped through the wind, sending purple smoke and brown sand bellowing across the sky. The city began to crumble, skyscrapers surrounding the Citadel slowly toppling over and crashing into the reservoir’s volatile liquids.

\-----

            Ironhide dropped a path-blaster, having used up all its ammunition. He panted, unable to vent the heat burning his circuits in the time it took him to inhale. He swung his fist, making contact with a pirate and sending them spiralling away. He fired a bolt from his cannons in the same direction, only barely holding on to the hope that it hit something. He turned to Starscream. The Aerospace Commander had given up shooting his missiles and was in the process of sawing a pirate in half. The Seeker noticed the Autobot staring at him and smirked. ‘Getting tired old man?’

            Ironhide grunted. ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve… I’ve never been better.’

            ‘Yeah?’ Starscream shrugged. ‘You know, I’d kill you… now that I have the chance. But I don’t think I’ll have to.’ Starscream activated the thrusters on his back and began to rise from the ground. ‘Unlike you, I’m out of ammunition, so I think I’ll just take my chances and return to the Nemesis while my thrusters are partially charged.’ In a flash, Starscream burst into the sky and high above the clouds. ‘It was nice teaming with you, Autobot. I could have sworn you’d have sooner killed me. I guarantee you will regret it.’

            ‘I already have…’ Ironhide muttered, surveying his remaining opposition, only about four or five remained, but they had him surrounded. ‘Damn.’ He fired his lost shot from his shoulder cannons and watch it whiz off into the distance. Pointless, is what it was. He shut his optics. Blackarachnia had better have survived that ship crash, Ironhide thought. She couldn’t die until after he did. Younger folk never deserved to die before the old. He tensed up, dropping his weaponry. He still wasn’t ready to die.

            He heard a scream, and his optics shot open. A large metallic puma had torn one of the pirates apart. A bullet whizzed past his head, prompting him to turn around. Wingspan was wrestling with one of the pirates. His talons pulled the pirate’s skull apart before finally crushing his brain-module and ending his life. When Ironhide turned back around to view Pounce, the other pirates were already dead.

            Wingspan joined him, wiping the grease from his fingertips. ‘You alright, Autobot?’  
            Ironhide nodded.

            ‘Starscream was right. Bludgeon was a jerk. He helped us see that.’

            ‘Ah.’

            ‘I don’t know if you’re working with him, or if he defected, but… whatever. I’d say this is our thanks, but really it was Pounce’s idea.’

            Pounce let out a grunt as he looked the other way.

            ‘Anyway, if you see him again, let him know that he did good. Between you and me, I find the guy pretty insufferable, but as far as leaders go… I wouldn’t _really_ mind if he ended up on top.’

            ‘Ah.’ He looked around. There was nothing left.

            ‘Krok’s guys will probably be here soon,’ Wingspan told him. ‘I’d get out of here if I were you. It’s what we’re doing.’

            Ironhide nodded. ‘Ah, I think I’ll do tha—‘

            His voice was soon drowned out by the nearby explosion, causing him to cover his eyes and wince at the searing light enveloping the Citadel.

\-----

Jazz and Optimus stared at the smoking reservoir. Coughing and spitting as they attempted, and failed, to regain their composures.

            Optimus stared at Jazz, then collapsed to his knees. Jazz did the same, barely holding himself together.

            ‘I’m sorry…’ Optimus said. ‘You didn’t have to lie about the stun-bullets. I’m so sorry I shot you.’

            ‘It’s cool, Chief. We went over it. If anyone’s to blame it’s me for agreeing to be shot in the first place.’

            ‘It still doesn’t feel very good.’ He muttered, letting his head fall back. ‘Jazz, am I a bad person?’

            He frowned ‘Now why’re you saying _that?_ ’

            ‘I feel like this whole… thing… It’s gruesome, isn’t it?’

            He stared out over the landscape. ‘You could say that.’

            ‘I feel like everything I did… it was a very Prowl-y method of doing things.’

            ‘You could say that.’

            Optimus nodded slowly. ‘So does that make me… bad?’

            Jazz sighed. ‘I don’t think anyone’s good or bad, Prime. I think we just do what we must to survive.’ He gestured to the city. ‘Sometimes there’s a high price for that.’

            ‘Mm…’ Optimus sighed.

            ‘He’s still alive.’

            Optimus gaped. ‘What?’

            Jazz tapped at his forehead. ‘I’m detecting a faint Energon signal down by the resevoir’s shores—Bludgeon’s not dead just yet.’

            Optimus pulled himself to his feet. ‘Alright. As soon as I reattach your leg… we’ll do what we must.’


	53. Hominem

                Ironhide pressed his back against the inner wall of a trench belonging to that of Cannonball’s division. Or _belonged,_ rather. His cannons had been corroded by the rustic oil leaking from his wrists. He was panting, taking in as much air he could to cool his heated vents; his spark had been working double-time, and it was straining him to keep up. He heard the tapping of footsteps growing nearer to the sanctuary of his trench and raised his guard. A quick shot to the knees would surely be enough to stop them in their tracks, he thought. Before he could make a move, a voice called out from the source of the tapping.

                ‘Hold your horses, bucko, it’s me!’

                Ironhide relaxed, if only somewhat, as Blackarachnia slid down into the trench next to him. She was cut up and bruised, but appeared as though she were in a finer working condition than he was. He guessed she had snuck around much of the action. _Good for her._ ‘What’s the situation like out there?’ he asked.

                ‘Everyone who isn’t a part of Krok’s division has either run off or kicked the bucket.’

                ‘How many does he have left?’

                ‘Krok? About twenty or thirty.’ She raised her claws defensively, though on closer inspection they appeared to have been trembling. ‘Now don’t let me get in the way of your carnage infused onslaught against forces twenty times your size, but... You can try what you like. As for me, I think I’m just about done with this whole killing and dying thing.’ She paused for half a second. ‘I guess this is what Optimus was talking about, huh.’

                Ironhide squinted at her. It wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as the invasion of Earth, but Ironhide could empathize with Blackarachnia’s understanding of it. She was forced to watch the entire slaughter from the Tidal Wave’s surveillance monitors. So little for her to do except use one of Bludgeon’s greatest weapons on his own troops. She had been forced to watch what she might have once considered her comrades tear each other apart, either fueled by Bludgeon’s dogma or by Prime’s, when she wasn’t causing the carnage herself. It wasn’t like Earth, but Ironhide understood. This was _Blackarachnia’s_ ‘Earth’. Just as Earth was the biggest battle Optimus had ever seen, Theopany was this to Blackarachnia. He chose not to respond to her last point and nodded gruffly. ‘Then I suppose now would be a good time to call down the Ark.’

                Blackarachnia poked her head over the edge of the trench, scanning the no-man’s-land for signs of attack al-the-while humming skeptically over the uncharacteristic silence it brought. ‘Oh right, Jazz and the boss say they’ll be here any second now. Did you hear? They took down Bludgeon.’

                ‘As a matter of fact I did.’ He looked off to the side. ‘Not like I had any doubts in the first place.’

                Blackarachnia stared at him, then grinned her sardonic grin. ‘Of _course_ you didn’t, big lug.’

                Voices popped in the distance. They sounded muffled at first, but with each passing word clarity washed over them. ‘We’re almost there! Eyes up, guns ready and mouths shut; we’re doing this right or we’re not doing this at all.’

                ‘That’s Krok,’ Blackarachnia whispered. ‘Any plans, mister experience?’

                He readied his cannon. ‘Just a few trick-shots I’ve been meaning to test out.’

                She shot him a wry look. ‘Come on now, we could actually die this time. You can at least try showing yourself some self-respect.’

                ‘We’ll be _fine,_ Blackarachnia. We have to be.’

\-----

Krok marched down the center of the corpse-strewn battlefield. Crankcase and Fulcrum stood at either side of him while the rest followed closely behind. What fliers remained hovered overhead, scouring the ground for survivors.

                ‘Krok!’ Spinister called from above. ‘I’m detecting three energy signatures emerging from the smoke up ahead.’

                ‘Can you ID them?’

                ‘I… yes. I’ll send you the feed via mental-link.’

                ‘Received.’ Krok frowned. ‘Oh no…’

                The image was clear enough. Two of the three signatures were Optimus Prime and Jazz. The third, however, existed cradled in Optimus Prime’s arms. Bludgeon had been reduced to his smallest inner components. His pretender shell was gone. His equipment was gone. Bludgeon was nothing more than a rotting exoskeleton no bigger than Optimus himself. His limbs were like bone, and his head was only partly formed. Below where his nose would be was nothing but wire that would curve into his neck. He looked as though he could fall apart at the softest touch.

Soon, Optimus emerged from the smoke, and the state of their former commander was known to each member of Krok’s division.

                ‘Attention Decepticons!’ Optimus blurted out. ‘Your leader is in our custody. Most of your comrades are dead. Fighting to make him anything more than he already is, is futile.’

                Krok felt something sickening rise from his fuel-pump.

                Blackarachnia and Ironhide crawled out of the trenches and joined their commander as he continued his speech. ‘If you wish to attack us now, you may, but I guarantee you, Bludgeon will not survive.’

                Crankcase leaned in towards Krok. ‘I say we attack. There’s no way he’s getting away with all of this— not without a smoking lump between his shoulders. Besides, Bludgeon was never that kind to us anyway.’

                He placed a hand on the Dread Commander’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Crankcase, if we weren’t doing this for Bludgeon…’

                 ‘Krok— dammit, you’re hurting me!’

                ‘… Then what in the ever-loving pit have we been fighting for?’ Krok released his grip and moved Crankcase to face the blazed city that surrounded them.

                Crankcase stared at the pile of cadavers lining the trenches. He stared at the patches of flames, having already spent their lives and slowly flickered towards death. He stared at Bludgeon and nodded. ‘Fair point… we’re still going to kill them though, right?’

                ‘I don’t—‘

                ‘We don’t need to fight any longer,’ Optimus bellowed. ‘We only want to leave. There’s no reason for us to perpetuate this needless bloodshed, not unless one of you plan on becoming Supreme Commander in Bludgeon’s place.’

                As Prime’s words hung in the air, the remaining Decepticons turned their attention to Krok.

                But the military strategist would only stare forward, terrified of the implications. Of any implication that he would be responsible for anything remotely of the scale. It was like when they would joke about “Misfire: Emperor of Destruction”, he was not far off. He was Krok. A former sportsman who signed up with the Decepticons on a whim. He was a grunt that got lucky one day and fell into Bludgeon’s cadre where through sheer competence he found himself where he was. He was Krok, and he was not ready.

                ‘No,’ Krok said. ‘No. We won’t—You’re right. There’s no reason for us to—‘

                The wind roared as a large black shadow overtook the city. Optics blazed upwards and fires extinguished as a massive black mass eclipsed the sun and the roaring purple engines of a warship brightened the sky in its place. The Nemesis had emerged from its hangar and hovered overhead. Flaring its mass and dominance over the small Decepticon squadron below. If a fight were to continue, the Nemesis would eviscerate them all.

                Ironhide pumped his cannons. ‘Dammit, I thought you said the Nemesis was powerless!’

                ‘It was!’ Jazz replied, pausing in between. ‘Only way that thing is possibly running is if they sapped what’s left of the city’s power-conduit.’ He paused, realizing he unintentionally answered their questions. ‘Which… is actually probably what they did.’

                ‘I guess if Bludgeon wasn’t using it…’ Optimus trailed off.

                Jazz pointed to the glowing engines rotating on its underbelly. ‘See that smoke? Even with the power-conduit in place it don’t look like they’ve got a full tank. You ask me, I’d say they’re still running on fumes.’

                ‘Then we have a chance?’ Blackarachnia asked.

                Jazz grinned. ‘Pff, you see the size of that thing?’

                A panel opened on the Nemesis’ hull, and the sleek form of Starscream’s jet-mode burst out and soared down before the two parties. He transformed midair, activating his thrusters and hovering over his subjects. ‘Optimus!’ He called, spreading his arms wide. ‘You’ve made quite the mess, haven’t you?’

                Optimus frowned, wincing as Bludgeon’s joints locked up. ‘Gloating, Starscream? How original.’

                ‘Ehh, yeah, yeah. Cliches, character archetypes… whatever. You see, the Nemesis is in a rather poor condition, and I’m afraid I have better uses for it than making you lot scatter around for another five minutes.’

                That just left Optimus confused. ‘Such as?’

                Starscream looked to Krok. ‘According to Wingspan’s data, several energy spikes have been appearing outside this planets solar-system. At the time, Bludgeon was too pre-occupied with the destruction of Optimus and the capture of Rosanna to do anything about it. After all, what could _possibly_ be the risk of just a few energy spikes?’ He chuckled. ‘No seriously. It’s bad news.’

                ‘What is out there, Starscream?’ Optimus demanded.

                ‘I’ll leave that for you to figure out. But a word of advisory, now that Bludgeon’s railguns are down, I would use the opportunity to your advantage and get the heck out of here as soon as possible. After all, I need you alive if I want to kill you later.’

                ‘Wait!’ Krok shouted. ‘Wingspan found those reports days ago—how long before whatever’s out there reaches us?’

                Ironhide was aiming his cannon at the Seeker’s forehead, waiting for a reason not to fire. ‘And just when the hell will you tell us what you know and quit being such a—’

                ‘Now why in the world would I bother with something as trivial as that?’ Starscream drawled, smiling wide. ‘They’ll be here in about three minutes.’

                ‘What?!’ Optimus stammered.

                ‘Toodles!’ Starscream disappeared back into the Nemesis before anyone could add another word.

                As the Nemesis prepared to warp, Krok rallied his forces. ‘Decepticons, retreat! Take to the desert!’

                Spinister reported. ‘The desert, sir?’

                ‘I don’t trust this city anymore. Honestly I doubt it can protect us from anything. If we scatter across the desert then we can at least ensure the survival of a majority.’

                ‘And Bludgeon?’

                Krok activated his megaphone before turning to run towards the gate. ‘If you want to save Bludgeon, do so. If not, we’ll leave him in the Autobots hands for now. For his safety.’

                They moved as one with Krok, making their way out through the city’s gate in seconds and rolling onto the outer Theopian desert. But none of them came for Bludgeon.

                ‘Aww hell,’ Blackarachnia sighed. ‘We’re going to die, aren’t we? I betcha Unicron’s coming—or the Fallen, or some resurrected version of Megatron calling himself Ga—‘

                Optimus hushed her with the palm of his hand. ‘No, no. I think I know what’s coming. And by Primus it’s worse.’

                ‘—himself Gavin. No?’

                ‘What if Starscream was just messing with us? What then?’ Ironhide asked.

                Optimus rested Bludgeon onto the ground, posturing him as if he were on his deathbed. ‘Better safe than sorry. Besides, I believe him. We need to get out of here fast, and luckily…’

                The Ark swooped down from above, hovering just high enough above the ground for the four Autobots to board. As soon as they touched the metal of the Ark’s floor, the Autobot freighter took flight; elevating towards the planet’s atmosphere.

                ‘… I have an awesome space ship that can warp as it pleases.’

                ‘You waited until we got into the Ark and took off to finish that sentence?’ Blackarachnia asked, kneeling on the floor.

                Optimus turned to her and shrugged.

                Jazz smirked. ‘Seems to me the chief may have some memory problems. The kind that come with age, y’know? Like he forgot he was talking in the first-place and—’

                Optimus chuckled. ‘Jazz, did you know this ship has over seventy airlocks? They’re there in case someone _needs_ to leave the ship while still in mid-flight. I’ll show them to you—you’d love them, I promise.’

                ‘Guys.’ Rosanna’s voice boomed over the comm. ‘Yeah, I know you told me to just leave the Ark on autopilot and all, but, uh, it’s giving me all these readings telling me something positively MASSIVE is about to warp straight above us.’

                ‘Uh oh.’ Optimus, Jazz, and Ironhide transformed into their vehicular modes and raced to the bridge, and, as Blackarachnia had no vehicle mode to call her own, the spider merely walked.

                Arriving first, Jazz took Rosanna’s side over the front-view monitor and examined the readings she spoke of. ‘What’s the brief?’

                Rosanna flinched. ‘Whoa. You’re pretty close—I mean, well, see for yourself.’

                Optimus and Ironhide arrived next. The former of which made a bee-line for his command chair and entered in a set of randomized co-ordinates for warp. ‘If it’s what I think it is then we should be getting an Autobot reading.’

                Jazz stepped back upon examining the code. ‘Huh, well whaddyou know? It is an Autobot signature. Multiple of them.’

                ‘Well that’s good, right?’ Rosanna asked, looking to the others for support. ‘Uh, that means they’re friends, right?’

                Optimus frowned over his lap. He closed his eyes. ‘Ironhide, Jazz… get us out of here.’

                ‘Wait, what?’

                But the Ark’s power-core had already been set aglow, and its thrusters had activated their warp-functions. Tapping into the nearest space-bridge conduit, the Ark shot into a burst of light and disappeared altogether.

                In its place warped hundreds of warships. Silver and sleek, and studded with blasters fresh off Wheeljack’s supply line. Still warm and scented with that newly manufactured musk that gun-lovers like Roadbuster and Atomizer loved. The helm ship took the lead, entering the atmosphere with its guns warmed to fire. A voice boomed from the head speaker. ‘This is Military General Prowl of the Autobot Army with the third legion of the Autobot Aerospace legion under my command. In the name of the Tyrest accord, the Autobot Code, and the acting Magnus Ultra— you are under arrest.’

                There was a silence on the bridge as the fleet awaited a response. When there wasn’t, Prowl spoke once more. ‘Prime?’

                Silence.

                ‘Prime, you are under arrest.’

                Silence.

                ‘Please answer me.’

                Silence.

                Prowl cursed under his breath so that the others wouldn’t hear him break his composure. ‘He’s not here.’

                The bridge sighed collectively. They had spent hours organizing themselves over nothing.

                ‘I’m detecting some signals.’ Hubcap reported from his comms chair. ‘You, uh, think it might be worth taking a look-see?’ He turned in his chair to face Prowl. He had to look up, as the captain’s chair was leveled higher than the rest. ‘I mean, even if the guy we’re looking for isn’t really here, we can still investigate the other Cybertronian life-signs in the area.’

                Prowl nodded, though it was clear to everyone that he was upset by the turnout.

\-----

                Prowl stood among the core-search team of the fleet. A battle had occurred only moments ago. That was clear even without the piles of bodies littering the area. For all he knew any one of those charred bodies could have belonged to Optimus. _No._ He realized. _We would know if he had perished._ He strode to Sonar, who had been in some discussion with Hubcap and Punch. Sonar, Hubcap, Searchlight, Rollout, and Punch made up his command staff. They were high members of Mirage’s intelligence committee, and thus knew about as much as he did on the kinds of operations he had taken place. He also trusted them to a degree, unlike most others under his command. ‘Any signs of life?’ Prowl asked.

                Sonar replied, ‘Yes, albeit very few. Electro has reported a heavily damaged survivor found lying on the ground. We don’t have any ID yet, but we do know they are a Decepticon.’

                ‘They’re _all_ Decepticons.’ Hubcap exclaimed. ‘This was some nasty civil war slag that went down. I didn’t know they were even allowed to _do_ that!’

                Prowl cocked his head to the side in consideration. ‘If what Arcee says is true, then it is entirely possible that Prime’s presence garnered this kind of slaughter.’

                ‘Yeah, no kidding,’ Punch added. ‘It’s not unlike the Decepticons to sport some infighting. Especially when it comes to leadership. This though?’ He whistled at the piles of dead. ‘If this is Optimus Prime’s doing then he sounds just as bad as you say, Prowl.’

                Prowl didn’t like the sound of that. It didn’t sound like Optimus whatsoever. Thankfully the most likely possibility was that Prime had passed through, and the conflict was entirely out of his hands. He was far from a sadist, after all. Really, he was undeserving of his status as the most wanted Cybertronian alive, so Prowl believed.

                ‘Yo! We got one!’ It was Rollout. The large Autobot bounded towards the group with Searchlight and a few others under his command. Under his arm he carried a tall Decepticon who looked relatively less tall when situated under a large, babbling Autobot’s armpit. ‘I found this guy sneaking around!’ He bragged. ‘Thought I’d tussle him up a notch, but whaddyou know—‘

                ‘Yeah, yeah, I came willingly,’ The Decepticon said. ‘Gosh. Y’know, if you really wanted to duke it out I’d kick your a—Oh, hey Prowl. I thought I smelt your aft around here.’

                Prowl frowned. ‘Banzaitron.’

                ‘Been a while, hasn’t it, partner?’

                Prowl turned to Sonar. ‘Get me a gun.’

                Banzaitron squirmed out of Rollout’s grip and began dusting himself off. ‘Whoa now, Prowl. No need for that—‘

                ‘You’re a Decepticon, Banzaitron. A famous one at that.’

                ‘Yes, and you’re an Autobot. Hasn’t stopped us from working together in the past though.’ He grinned beneath his slender face-plate. ‘Has it, Prowl?’

                Prowl called off the order with the wave of his hand before placing his full attention on the Decepticon. ‘So what? You think we’ll just let you go?’

                ‘If you want to continue receiving the information from me that you oh, so desire, yes.’

                Rollout guffawed. ‘HAH! Yeah right. Like you’re gonna “buy” your freedom from Prowl. It’s over, con!’

                ‘How many are with you?’ Prowl asked.

                ‘Two. Axer and Treadshot, are their names. They’re with me now. The rest were killed off by Bludgeon.’

                ‘Bludgeon?’ Hubcap nearly choked. ‘He’s still around here?’

                ‘Alive, too. Not in very good shape, but alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found the bastard already.’

                ‘Uh huh.’ He signaled the helm ship prepare for departure. ‘You can ride with us. You’ll tell us everything you know about what occurred here, and in exchange we’ll drop you off somewhere you won’t be recognized.’

                Banzaitron grinned. ‘That sounds just positively lovely.’

                Rollout stared at Prowl, puzzled. ‘Wait, you’re serious?’

                Prowl sighed. ‘A deals a deal. We benefit him, he benefits us. That’s how mercenaries work.’ He scratched the back of his head as he led Banzaitron to the ship. ‘The real problem at hand is how I am going to explain all of this to Magnus when we return.’

\-----

Cannonball awoke with a start. A dream? A dream. Yes, there was no way his prized ship the Tidal Wave could have possibly—

                ‘Oy, the Captain’s awake,’ Finback cawed to the rest of the group.

                ‘Oh.’ Cannonball was lying still on a stretcher pulled by Crowbar and Finback. They had lost after all. He couldn’t tell what his crew had numbered to, but he was sure it was salvageable. ‘Get me Brimstone!’ He announced groggily. Things would be back on track in no time.

                ‘Brimstone’s dead.’ Crowbar told him.

                ‘Oh.’ That sucked. He tried to think of who was next in charge, but dared not ask in case they were dead too. ‘Erm, who have we lost, Finback?’

                ‘A few…’ Finback muttered. ‘Krok took the majority off with him. We kind of just followed suit with what was left.’

                ‘Names, Finback. I want names!’

                ‘Aye, sir. Lessee… Thundertron wasn’t dead when we found him, but with his age catching up it was only a matter of time before... We ended up having to leave him there in favour of you…’ He shook his head. ‘Old boy was gonna die at any second. I told him that all the time. Still, he had a few good years left in him. A damn shame they’ll have to go to waste.’

                ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who else?’

                ‘We never found Ferak’s body. Wingspan, Pounce, and Axer abandoned us for Banzaitron and the rest, and, well, you know what? That’s all you need to know. Anyone who’s not here is already dead.’

                ‘I see. Wait.’ Cannonball sat up with a jolt, and looked around him. Where was his crew? Where were his loyal subjects? ‘You’re kidding me.’

                ‘We’re all that’s left.’ Crowbar explained. ‘Just you, me, Finback, and—‘

                ‘And me.’ Tornado answered. Limping alongside the stretcher.

                ‘Only three left…’ Cannonball lowered himself back onto the stretcher and went limp. ‘Only three…’ His mind went blank.

\----

                ‘How many times have I repaired you this week?’ Optimus asked, placing his laser scalpels back into their dish and washing his servos. ‘Because it feels like I’ve had to fix you periodically.’

                Blackarachnia shrugged, sitting up on the slab as she did. ‘Whatever, man, I’m a delicate flower worthy of universal affection. ‘S why I got fixed before Ironhide did.’

                Ironhide grunted from across the room. He had been leaning against the farthest wall within the med-center of the Ark; watching as Optimus acted his part as medic/leader of Team Prime.

                ‘Nothing to say, Ironhide?’ She chuckled. ‘Jealous because I’m the new favourite?’

                He grunted again. ‘We forgot Bludgeon.’

                Optimus nearly dropped one of his newly polished scalpel. ‘Crap.’

                Blackarachnia frowned up at him. ‘You didn’t leave him on purpose?’

                He smirked, waving his scalpel at the former Decepticon. ‘Nah, I’m just kidding around. Yeah, I did.’

                ‘Huh,’ Blackarachnia stared forward. ‘I guess we left him to die after all.’

                ‘Not exactly,’ Optimus replied. ‘His safety is guaranteed as soon as Prowl arrives—which he must have by now. He’ll be in the Hub’s prison hold or a Garrus complex in no time.’

                Ironhide moved away from the wall. ‘Those Autobot signals…’

                Optimus nodded. ‘An Autobot armada, yeah. Prowl must have led it in search of me.’

                ‘How would he find us?’

                ‘I…’ Optimus lowered his head. ‘I have a few theories, but I can’t say I want them to be true.’

                ‘Maybe it’s a traitor,’ Blackarachnia said casually. She stretched her head back so she could face the door. ‘I wonder where Jazz went.’

                Optimus stared at her. ‘What?’

                She stared back. ‘What?’

                ‘Why did you say that?’

                ‘Say what?’

                ‘You wondered if there was a traitor, and then asked where Jazz was.’

                ‘So?’

                ‘So I’m inclined to believe you’re insinuating something. And for both our sakes, I hope you’re not.’

                She grinned. ‘Maybe I am. Is it going to sway your judgement? No? Didn’t think so.’

                Optimus slammed his fist against the edge of her slab, causing her to jolt upward and onto her feet. ‘You _still_ don’t trust him? After he saved our lives? _Your_ life?!’

                ‘I take it no matter what I say you’ll still disagree.’

                ‘He stopped the Dreads! He literally took a bullet for the team!’

                ‘So he’s officially on our team, now?’

                ‘Yes. No… I don’t know yet.’ Optimus brought his palms to his face. ‘Why?’

                ‘Why don’t I trust him?’

                He shot her a glance from the cracks between his fingers that read “what else could I mean?”

                ‘Decepticon intuition. A survival instinct, you could call it. You keep yourself around an untrustworthy bunch for long enough and you begin to pick up on what makes them untrustworthy.’

                Optimus threw his hands in the air. ‘I should have expected as much.’

                ‘Then you tell me, why do you trust Jazz?’

                Optimus glared at her through icy optics. He could barely believe he was being asked such a question. ‘Because… well… it’s Jazz!’

                ‘Uh huh.’

                ‘He taught me how to fight!’

                ‘I was taught by Shockwave. Y’know, the Decepticon who collapsed an entire universe with his bare hands? Er, hand, but y’know…’

                ‘He’s been a loyal member of the Autobots for decades!’

                ‘Technically every member of the Autobots is a “loyal member”. You don’t just accept treasonous people to be a part of your armed forces. Even the treacherous don’t last long in the Decepticons. They exist, but they get away with it by hiding the evidence. Usually we don’t learn about their treachery until after they’re found out. Technically—or rather, officially, everyone’s loyal as long as they’re not found out. Even Starscream, officially, at least, is a loyal Decepticon. He hasn’t assassinated any superiors, as far as anyone can tell, and he hasn’t betrayed his followers so much as he just treats him like slag. He’s just notorious for being extremely critical of Megatron’s government—which is exactly why Megatron made him his second in the first place. If anything, Starscream is more honest than any of us.’

                Optimus wanted to scream, but he couldn’t think of the words to express it.

                ‘Okay, easy question. How well do you know Jazz personally?’

                _Easy,_ Optimus thought. ‘He’s good natured, calm, effective. He likes music. He’s made me laugh in the past. He’s good at his job. He’s a member of the Elite Guard. He’s friendly—‘

                ‘None of that describes who he is, though. Not the way you perceive it. “He likes music” most people like music, you know. Just because I’m not constantly listening to something doesn’t mean I like music any less than he does. And calm? Good natured? Really? No one’s calm, Optimus, we’re in a goddamn war for Primus’ sake. You tell me someone’s good natured and calm to their very core and I’ll call you a liar. What does he fear? What keeps him up at night? What was his upbringing like? Oh, what are his political views? You can always tell a lot about someone based on their political views. Is he a part of the conservative majority of the Autobots, or is he like you—jaded by the contradictions present in both factions?’

                Somehow imagining Jazz with having any sort of political opinions made him feel sick, though he knew he must have had some ideas, he could not explain why it bothered him so.

                ‘There, see? That face you just made—you don’t want a person, you just someone to tell you you’re right! You don’t want to have to deal with real people with feelings and opinions! For someone who focuses so much on the grey aspects of the Autobot Decepticon war, you like to think pretty one-dimensionally when it comes to the individual participants. I guess Prowl’s a completely evil, irredeemable villain as well, right?’

                Optimus searched his brain for an answer to her, fingers digging into the palms of his hands until dents began to form. He was shaking with rage, when suddenly, all of it stopped. He brought a hand to his face, and laughed. ‘I just realized… I don’t know why I’m even having this conversation…’ His fingers dragged down the curves of his face before dropping to his side. ‘You’re the Decepticon here.’

The three stood staring at each other. Their faces as blank as the day they were manufactured; the look they had moments before their sparks came to life and they made their first expressions.

                ‘You know…?’ Blackarachnia’s mouth curved into a sideways grin. ‘In spite of everything, I never expected you to stoop that low.’

                ‘What?’ Optimus spun around to Ironhide. ‘Come on, Ironhide, help me out here.’

                ‘I completely agree with everything you said,’ Ironhide told him. ‘I think it’s silly to assume that everyone or anyone can be a traitor or a spy just because you don’t know them well enough—‘

                ‘See?’

                ‘—but as your friend I have to say that was the most immature thing I’ve heard you say in a long time.’

                Blackarachnia had already begun to leave and was practically already out the door.

                Optimus stared at the black Autobot, baffled. ‘You’re kidding me—you’ve called Blackarachnia a Decepticon ever since you first laid eyes on her!’

                Ironhide slowly walked past him. ‘I stopped seriously cussing her out weeks ago. I don’t particularly like her yet the way I like you, but at least the feelings are mutual. We criticize each other because it’s one of those things that keeps us sane. You can say it comes hand in hand. You said what you said because you didn’t want to lose an argument. And yet you actually believed it when you said it. Ad hominem, Optimus.’

                Optimus tried to think of an explanation or an excuse, but Ironhide was already nearing the door, and Optimus knew Ironhide would not listen. Still, he desperately wanted him to stay. ‘I haven’t repaired you yet,’ Optimus whispered.

                ‘You can do it later. I’m tired. I’m going to go lay down.’

                And he was gone. Optimus stood in the center of the room, alone and angry. He turned around, and scanned the tall glass medicine cabinet pressed against the wall. With a roar, he grabbed the cabinet with both hands, and threw it across the room. The cabinet shattered as it hit the floor, capsules of specialty medicine spilling out and over the gold panelling of the Ark.

                He stood, hands trembling, staring at the mess he made. It would take a long time to clean up, he realized.

 


	54. Recompense

Ironhide rapped the back of his knuckles against the side of Blackarachnia’s cell. She had been lying face-down on the floor. ‘Occupied.’

                ‘I can see that.’ The cell was sealed with glass and could only be entered through a small glass rectangle in the right-most side of the pane. It was the same one Blackarachnia had broken through so long ago. The one where she had thought she murdered Cog was just across from her. Though only Ironhide knew the true state of the mysterious Kimian. Still, the room gave off bad memories for the both of them. Ironhide wondered why she hadn’t asked to move to a proper room. By all means, she had graduated from being their prisoner.

                ‘What do you want? I’m tired.’ Blackarachnia said. ‘Gimme a few more hours and I’ll kick your aft in the morning.’

                ‘I think time’s subjective in space.’

                ‘Shut up.’

                Ironhide folded his arms and leaned his broad shoulders against the cell’s glass.

                Blackarachnia raised her head. ‘Seriously, what are you doing here? If you’re going to force me to apologize to Optimus then you’re talking to the wrong babe.’

                ‘I never said that.’

                ‘Fine then.’

                They basked in silence for what felt like hours. It was about three minutes. Ironhide remained leaning against the cell. Staring up at the ceiling with his arms folded into his body. Blackarachnia laid on her side, staring at the back-wall of her cell. It was all they needed.

                ‘I don’t know if I even actually mistrust Jazz,’ Blackarachnia said, finally. ‘I mean, I have a bad gut-feeling about him. But really, I have the same feeling around everyone. I excused it as a Decepticon thing, but now I think I just hate people.’

                ‘I’ve been there,’ Ironhide snorted.

                ‘I know _you’ve_ been there. You’re pissed off at everything.’

                ‘You know what—?’ Ironhide began to fume, then, as soon as his body was capable of registering the change in mood, he mellowed. ‘Actually yeah, pretty much.’

                Blackarachnia sighed. ‘Y’know, while part of me—a great part of me, actually—thinks we should beware the guy, I think… I mean, I get the feeling I just… I think I’m just afraid of change.’

                Ironhide turned his head to face her.

                ‘I mean, I liked what was going for us three. You, the angry shouting old-guy, me, the awesome-cool-fun-time Decepticon, and Optimus, the mediator guy. It was nice. It felt _right._ But with Jazz hanging around… it’s just kind of hard to accept. Especially for me.’ She went silent. ‘I kind of hoped just the three of us would have this adventure forever.’

                ‘Nothing’s forever,’ Ironhide said. ‘Obviously. If not one of us _leaves,_ or has to go home sick, or gets arrested—well, one of us will die. It’s just an eventuality dictated by the universe. If the Decepticons don’t catch us, then old age will. No use to get all misty-eyed about it.’

                ‘Yeah… Yeah I know.’

                ‘Then the other two will cry. We’ll carry on, and eventually, soon after maybe, another will bite it, and only one will remain.’

                She sat up. ‘Or we could all just die at the same time. That doesn’t sound so bad.’

                Ironhide couldn’t help but grin beneath his faceplate. ‘Ugh, you’re not suggesting that “suicide party” idea again, are you.’

                ‘To be fair, that was when I actually wanted you to die.’ She paused. ‘I mean—wait, no. I still want you to die. Did you catch me not constantly wanting you to die? How embarrassing!’ She chuckled.

                ‘Yeah.’ Ironhide huffed. ‘But that’s why we gotta keep bringing new people into our lives. So that when two of the Spacefarers leave us, there will still be a thousand more remaining.’

                ‘Yeah.’

They went silent once more. Neither saying a word nor a jibe. They had remained in the same position as before. Unmoving. Unspeaking. The hum of the Ark’s quantum engine filling their audio-receptors and flooding through their bodies in perfect harmony.

                ‘Thank you, Ironhide.’

                ‘Nn?’

                ‘What?’

                ‘You say something?’

                ‘No. I haven’t said anything since you got here.’

                ‘Ah. Right.’ Ironhide took his leave. ‘See ya, then.’

                ‘See ya.’

                As he left, Blackarachnia rolled over onto her back; looking up at the ceiling, she smiled, and outside in the Ark’s corridor, Ironhide did the same.

\-----

Optimus strode down his homely halls in a daze. He had survived. They all had survived. He had accomplished something he never thought possible. Yet here he was. Dreary. Sunken and sullen. He always had to mess something up somehow. Whatever God existed, be it Primus or one of Bludgeon’s Cacogens of Darkness, whoever they were, they did not intend to let Optimus off so easily. He found himself standing in front of the temporary hab-suite he had personally suited for Jazz. He pounded the door.

                Jazz had been speaking with someone mid-sentence, and had only raised his voice to accept Prime’s proposal to enter. He entered just as Jazz was saying his goodbyes to his former commander: Sentinel Prime. Though Sentinel and he locked optics through the vid-screen briefly, it was clear neither Optimus nor he had any intention of striking up a last minute conversation. The screen fizzled black, and Jazz spun around in his chair to speak with his current land (or ship)-lord. A wide grin had parted across his face.

                ‘Good news, chief! Sentinel has given the all-clear to let me jive on your ship from now on. Just as you asked, I got his permission. He wants me to update him periodically on what’s going on until then but otherwise—‘

                ‘Jazz, can I talk to you for a minute?’

                Jazz blinked beneath his visor. It took him a matter of seconds to realize something was wrong from the look of Prime’s disposition. ‘Yeah, anything you want, Prime. Take a seat—er, if you want. You’re the boss, not me.’

                Optimus did just that, pulling out a chair from the work-bench and sitting a meter across from Jazz. ‘Listen, Jazz. I feel as though I’ve been a little hasty with my acceptance of your assimilation into my crew.’

                Jazz looked around, waiting for someone to jump out and tell him he was joking. ‘You’re serious?’

                Optimus nodded. ‘You understand the severity of my—of _our_ — situation. Don’t you?’

                ‘Well, yeah. Of course I do. You’ve got about the most severe situation out of, well, out of anyone I suppose.’

                ‘Then you would also understand why one might want to be… protective, when it comes to accepting new companions on this frightful voyage.’

                He nodded. Thought. Then raised his servos. ‘Hey listen, if you’re worried about trusting me or anything—or if I might leak anything to Sentinel then you have nothin’ to worry about. Believe it or not I kind of hate him. Like a lot. I still worked for him, but…’

                Optimus signalled him to be quiet, and Jazz obeyed. He rested his hands beneath his chin. ‘It’s not that. Not really. I want to trust you, Jazz. I want you to _belong_ here.’

                ‘You think _I_ don’t?’

                ‘—but for that to happen, I’ll need you to convince me.’

                Jazz opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and shook his head in silence. ‘I don’t… I don’t really know what to say. I mean, you’ve known me for over a thousand years.’

                ‘Have I?’

                The question hung in the air, and Jazz, though he seemed so certain of his statement, began to question it himself. ‘I don’t know.’ He muttered. ‘I suppose… I suppose we only knew each-other before we graduated, didn’t we?’

                ‘Exactly.’ Optimus rose from his chair, towering over Jazz. ‘I want to trust you Jazz. I actually _like_ you. But liking and understanding something are two completely different things. After we graduated from the Academy I was drafted as a Prime, and you were trained to be a special operative. You were essentially a black-ops agent. What a wrecker should have been, but better. I never knew Jazz the Autobot. I would greatly appreciate it if you introduced me to him.’

                Jazz sat blank-faced in his chair. Then, he got up, turned around, and moved over to a data-pad lying flat next to the computer terminal he had contacted Sentinel with. He plugged his thumb into its rim, and a holographic projector activated. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this…’

                Prime flinched, expecting him to pull out some pistol or blade to defend himself with, but as it turned out, the words were just that. Words. Nothing had befallen him. Instead, the room came alight with holographic star-maps, data-profiles, and debriefings.

                ‘Some of it’s already been shredded, but here is a collection of all recorded reports on my… doings, in the war.’ He pointed at the individual files, naming them off. ‘Assassination attempts. Assassination _successes_. Thought Assassination. Misinformation campaigns. Galactic censorship. Protection of fraud. Tech theft. Underground dealings. Interrogation. The list goes on.’

                Optimus squinted at the reports, swiping one holographic visual aside to view the next. ‘These orders were issued by Prowl…’

                ‘A lot of my orders were issued by Prowl.’

                Optimus swept the hologram away to the side with a massive swing of his arm. ‘You’ve been working under Prowl for the past millennia—and you never thought to _tell_ me?!’

                Jazz raised his servos above his head. ‘It’s not like—okay, it’s true. He and I worked almost hand-in-hand for… for about as long as you’re suggesting. BUT, that doesn’t mean I’m still working with him now. I am not proud of what I did at all and… and honestly I sometimes wish I never existed. I don’t believe in many of his methods. Just like you. And just like you, I wanted to do something… different. Incredible. Beautiful. You name it.’

                ‘Still,’ Prime swept his digits across his brow and began massaging his face. ‘The Pragmatist scouring the galaxy with hope of _arresting me_ has been your boss on numerous occasions, and you didn’t think for a second that I might have wanted to know someone like you has been living on my ship?’

                Jazz stammered. ‘I just—I didn’t—,’ his servos fell into his lap. ‘I was afraid you’d send me back to Sentinel if you ever found out.’

                Optimus lowered his guard. ‘You really don’t like it there, with Sentinel, do you?’

                Jazz stared into his lap. Silent.

                Optimus closed the hologram, then returned the data-pad back to where Jazz had found it. ‘If you ever refuse to disclose information—important information—volatile information—such as this with me again, then I really _will_ send you back to Sentinel.’

                Jazz’s head bolted up. ‘Wait—you mean…?’

                Optimus made his way back to the other side of the room; to the door. ‘If you’re going to be my lieutenant commander on this ship, then I fully expect you to live up to the role. You’ll be my other half. Everything you know—everything you _hear_ —filters into me. I will not tolerate withheld information on this ship.’ Optimus winced, realizing his own hypocrisy in that statement. ‘I want all of your past records on my desk by the end of the cycle. For your sake, do not leave _anything_ out.’

                Jazz bounced to his feet. ‘Chief—I mean, Sir! Does this mean I can stay on the ship, sir?’

                Optimus was already preparing to leave. ‘For now, yes. For now, you are an official member of Team Prime. But just know that this talk is not yet over. I want to know everything about the Autobot claiming to want to be a part of this mess. I’ll be coming by again to resume our talk. Until then, welcome to the Spacefarers.’

                As Optimus was about to leave, Jazz spoke up. ‘What will we talk about, er, sir?’

                Optimus hesitated.

                ‘Can you give me an example?’

                Optimus turned around, shrugged. ‘Fear.’ With that, he left.

                Sitting alone in his room. Jazz stared at his palm, thinking. _Fear. Did he mean “what I fear”?_

Jazz thought about this in silence. He thought about his future on the ship. He thought about the possible lives he could have had, and the one he had now.

                ‘The Autobots.’

                _‘What?’_ The monitor came back to life. Sentinel’s face appeared on the screen. He had added a red faceplate and an orange paint-job to his ever changing appearance. The Prime had long chains draping from the sides of his head like orange jewelry, and a massive helm that would have appeared ceremonial, but was in all intents and purposes decoration.

                ‘Nothing, sir.’ Jazz replied.

                _‘Did you get a load of that guy?’_ Sentinel gushed. _‘I’d say old Orion’s changed over the years, but really, who can tell? He isn’t really that good at being threatening, is he?’_

 _‘_ No sir.’

                _‘Or trying to be somebody. He’s one sad, sad, bot. Like, I thought Rodimus was bad, but… Ah… I just realized… who cares. You on the other hand, Jazz. You’re amazing! He actually bought all that gunk of “trying to atone of past mistakes”.’_ He laughed. _‘You’re a better actor than I am!’_

 _‘_ Thank you, sir.’

                _‘But seriously.’_ Sentinel’s tone went solemn. _‘I didn’t hear since we were interrupted, but you did complete your mission for me, yes?’_

‘Yes sir.’

                _‘Good.’_ Sentinel leaned back into his chair. Then stopped, pondered, and leaned forward once more. _‘Just so we’re clear, you_ did _arrest and execute the Circle of Light, correct?’_

‘Yes sir.’

                _‘And you didn’t—Oh. Oh good! Wow, I really don’t give you enough credit. Huh. They believed everything you—wow. Prowl wasn’t kidding. And here I am assigning you to information gathering.’_

Jazz grinned. ‘Just another part of the job, chief.’

\-----

Optimus bumped into Rosanna in the hall. ‘Oh, sorry about that. Again.’

                Rosanna glared up at him. ‘Primus—you really don’t watch where you’re going, do you?’ Frantically, she tossed her servos into the air above her head. ‘You just like to doze off into your own personal reverie dreamland. Completely ignorant to actual events and the actual people surrounding you, huh?’

                ‘Look, I really don’t have time for this right now. Speaking of which, where the hell have you been all this time? I can pretty much guarantee your safety here, but I should still probably have you guarded.’

                ‘Oh.’ She shrugged. ‘I was just, you know, doing idol stuff. Because I’m an idol if you can’t already tell.’

                ‘Oh I can tell.’ Optimus sighed, and continued down the hall. Rosanna followed. He was forced to stain his neck to look down on her. ‘I don’t suppose you’re planning to join the crew as well, are you?’

                Rosanna laughed. And laughed. And laughed. ‘No. Never. As soon as I’m back home I’m staying way away from this death magnet you got here. Besides, I gotta job to do back with Chromia.’ She paused. ‘I mean if it was just Jazz, then fine. But if I stayed now my life— _my_ precious life—would be at risk.’

                ‘Just Jazz, huh.’

                ‘Yeah. Wait. That didn’t sound right. It’s not like it sounds.’

                Optimus grinned. ‘Uh-huh.’

                ‘What? He’s a good guy, yeah? A little weird with his dancing, but, like, he saved me, didn’t he?’

                ‘No, by all means, you’re right. Jazz is a great guy. Back in the day he could never keep the ladies off of him.’

                ‘Right.’ She stopped. ‘Wait, what? What does that mean? What are you insinuating? Are you even insinuating anything? ARRGH!’ She turned around and stomped off in the opposite direction.

                Grinning, Optimus rounded a corner and spotted the cell-block from afar. He took a deep breath, and his expression dropped. He entered the cell-block. He made his way to her cell. She was sitting, facing the other way. He knocked on the glass.

                ‘Uh huh?’

                ‘It’s Optimus.’

                ‘And?’

                ‘And I don’t know if this is worth anything to you, but I’m genuinely sorry for the things I said.’

                ‘Mkay.’

                Optimus waited. When he didn’t get a response, he spoke up. ‘I wasn’t expecting much, but, uh…’

                ‘You’re not getting much.’

                ‘Was that a statement, or you finishing my sentence?’

                She got up and turned around, her stance sober, but not uncaring. She was sure to look him in the eye in hopes he would do the same for her. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking about this. I was thinking about how I’d respond to you from now on. I was initially going to pretend nothing hurts me and that I’ve never been hurt before, but I figured you and I are adult enough to quit following such stupid presumptions. I think that it’s for the best that I speak the truth, and that that truth is that I don’t forgive you.’

                Optimus couldn’t understand. ‘You’re not supposed to say that.’

                ‘Oh by all means I can say what I’m “supposed” to say. I can tell you that your apology is accepted. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? That would seal all our problems up as if they never happened. As if nothing is wrong, or ever was wrong. I don’t forgive you, Optimus. Because I think you, like the rest of us, need to learn about the fallout of mistakes. We can still be friends. We can still hang-out. And you’re still my boss. But I think that—because Ironhide and Jazz will always tell you what you want to hear—you need a proper, painful, shove in the right direction. Instead of receiving your “closure”, you need to learn, and live, with the shitty thing you did.’

                Optimus stepped away from the cell. ‘I don’t know what to say to that.’

                ‘Good. You’re not supposed to.’

                Optimus frowned, and stormed out of the cell-block. ‘I don’t even know why I bothered.’

                As he made his way down the hall, he could hear Blackarachnia say: ‘You bothered because you couldn’t delude yourself fast enough.’

                Optimus marched to the bridge. He parted open the doors with a violent shove and landed into his command chair. He stared at his hands. He couldn’t tell what he was doing wrong, but at the same time, he knew he was mostly upset because he didn’t receive his forgiveness—as if it were some deserved form of payment for his struggles.

                ‘You awake?’

                Optimus jolted up, craned his head. Ironhide stood by his side. ‘Oh, it’s you. Sorry, you had me spooked. I thought you were getting some rest.’

                ‘I was.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Anything you want to talk about, then?’

                ‘No. Sort of. Yes.’

                ‘Blackarachnia?’

                ‘Blackarachnia.’

                Ironhide heaved a heavy sigh, staring out the bridge’s front-view window and toward the clusters of stars that loomed ahead. ‘Best just try and ignore it for now.’

                ‘How am I supposed to do that?’

                He shrugged.

                Optimus massaged the sides of his head in irritation. ‘Part of me wants to know how to make it up to her, and part of me doesn’t even know how what I said affected her. Nothing affects her.’

                Ironhide shrugged again. ‘She looks up to you.’

                Optimus stared at him like he told a bad joke.

                ‘You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want, but you can’t disagree that you’re the only one who ever gave her a chance.’

                ‘That’s fair. I guess.’

                ‘Aye, it is.’

                ‘Doesn’t mean I understand her though.’

                Silence on the bridge.

                ‘Can you really fully understand anyone? If you never experienced the same things they did, I mean.’

                ‘I guess not.’ He shuffled in his chair. ‘I understand you, though.’

                He raised a brow at that. ‘Do you now? You don’t know everything about me, you know. You don’t know about the stuff I got up to back in boot-camp.’ He winked.

                Optimus scoffed. ‘Of course I do. You were always around me because nobody else ever wanted to hang out with you.’

                Ironhide laughed at that. ‘Okay. Still. You don’t know everything.’

                ‘I guess not.’ Optimus said, shrugging. ‘You’re still my brother, though.’

                ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

                ‘Not literally. Just… you know, forget it.’

                Ironhide hummed, squinting at the stars they passed. ‘You contact Chromia yet?’

                ‘I did. No response.’ He sat up in his seat and began tapping commands into the arms of his chair. ‘Thanks for reminding me. She should be wary of my trying to contact her by now.’

                After a moment’s pause, Optimus frowned. ‘Still no response.’

                Ironhide hugged himself. ‘Hope they aren’t in any trouble.’

                ‘Yeah…’ Optimus leaned his elbow against the arm of his command chair and began tapping at the side of his faceplate. ‘I’m sure they’re fine.’

\-----

                ‘What do you think?’

                ‘I think, Arcee, that I will most likely be reprimanded for my misconduct.’

                Prowl, Arcee, and Hubcap stood at the helm of the flagship. They, as well as the rest of the fleet, were on a fast approach back to the orbital command hub, where Ultra Magnus awaited. Prowl was dreading their reunion, as he had hoped that by retrieving Optimus, his lack of authorization to mobilize an entire fleet would be overlooked. He did not, and it would not be.

                ‘Not that,’ Arcee drawled. ‘I’m talking about the Decepticons.’

                Prowl turned to face her and scowled. ‘I presume you mean Banzaitron, Axer, and Treadshot.’

                ‘I wasn’t really asking for their names, but…’ she nodded.

                ‘As… unappealing Banzaitron might be in terms of his social skills, he makes up for it in reliability.’

                ‘Kind of like you, huh?’ Hubcap chuckled.

                Prowl ignored him. ‘In other words, I trust him.’

                ‘Yeah?’ Arcee grinned.

                The military strategist winced in irritation. ‘Are you still here?’

                ‘Rollout and Punch are finding a proper craft for me down below,’ Arcee explained. ‘I’ll be gone in about five minutes.’

                ‘I shouldn’t seem ungrateful.’ Prowl muttered. ‘I greatly appreciate you finding Optimus’ location for me. I just don’t know why you would stay the trip back. We could have easily dropped you off back with Chromia.’

                She tapped the side of her head and grinned. ‘You could say I like to be in the loop.’ She had already begun rolling away to the elevator across the room as she spoke. ‘Oh and, ah, tell Magnus I said hi.’

                Prowl groaned. It felt like an eternity, but the fleet had returned and entered the massive orbital space-stations hangar-bay. As soon as he stepped out onto the gleaming metal steps, Prowl and Hubcap were escorted to Ultra Magnus’s office. Prowl wondered briefly why Mirage and the rest were not following them, then realized that Magnus had considered the entirety of the operation Prowl’s responsibility and had merely brought Hubcap along to bear witness.

                Within minutes of entering his office, Ultra Magnus had already begun throwing things around.

                ‘Could you imagine my frustration when Countdown contacted me telling me an entire section of the aerial-fleet had vanished under the authorization of seemingly no-one?!’

                ‘It was my own Authorization, sir.’

                He knocked a tablet off his desk with his prosthetic claw and glared into Prowl with burning blue optics. He struck his claw forward, nearly clipping the military strategist’s head-crest clean off. ‘I don’t know who you think you are, Prowl, but you are in no position to make decisions of such calibre without my permission.’ He snorted at the pile of data-pads lying in the corner of the room. ‘Now look at what you’re making me doing, I’m making a mess… Arresting Optimus? I don’t think I recall any discussion concluding with his immediate arrest.’

                ‘We were not attempting to arrest him in the restrained sense of the word.’ Prowl said, trying to keep up. ‘It was a method of placing him under our protection, no matter what he may have had to say about it.’

                ‘—and not only are you going against the will of a Prime, but of the will of your Magnus as well. I don’t want to hear any more of it. I’ve let you off your leash, _trusting_ you to bring the Autobot dream to fruition. But after today…’ he shook his head. ‘Imagine if the Decepticons attacked.’

                ‘I had already calculated that that would be a highly improbable—‘

                ‘But imagine.’ His face reflexively scrunched up at the bitterness of the thought. ‘It would have been too _easy_ for them.’

                Hubcap raised his hand. ‘Um. Magnus, sir. In Prowl’s defense, we did actually succeed in—‘

                Magnus jabbed the tip of his prosthetic claw in Hubcap’s direction. ‘And don’t think you’re off the hook either, Hubcap. I know about your little “business strategy”. I know about your underhand deals with the league of bounty hunters and the Vestial Imperium’s information guilds.’

                Hubcap dropped into a panic, sputtering and stuttering, and grasping the air with his fingertips in some vain attempt at articulating the words he was trying to say. ‘Sir—I—I don’t—heh—okay—I know that’s not a very, um, favorable position in the Autobot hierarchy, but I, um, still—‘

                Magnus raised a massive palm. ‘Save it. I don’t want to hear _any_ of it. I don’t even know how you’re still head of communications after Blaster—‘

                ‘I mean we arrested Bludgeon.’

                ‘For all I care the two of you ought to court-martial—’ His big blue optics rounded in surprise. ‘What?’

                ‘It’s true, um, Magnus, sir.’ Hubcap shuffled his feet. ‘Maybe Prowl was wrong to bring his fleet to Prime’s last location. But, heh, in doing so we had the room to arrest a couple handfuls of survivors.’

                Magnus shot Prowl a skeptical look. ‘Decepticon survivors?’

                ‘Of course.’ Hubcap continued. ‘We arrested Bludgeon, as well as a few more heavy hitters. Um, by all means I think that—while Prowl may not have achieved what he was hoping to achieve—he did accomplish more in arresting a highly acclaimed Decepticon General than pretty much anyone has accomplished since, heh, since Optimus destroyed Megatron.’

                Magnus squinted at Prowl. ‘Were there any casualties.’

                ‘No, sir. There wasn’t even a battle.’

                ‘Why was I not informed?’

                ‘You should have been. In fact you were.’ Prowl nodded to his desk. ‘It is all there in the report I sent you before our arrival.’

                Magnus eyes his desk and growled.

                ‘You read my report, didn’t you?’

                Magnus circled his desk, and fell into his seat. ‘I see… No, Prowl. I have not. I probably should have rather than let my… emotions fall out of control.’

                Prowl stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. ‘By all means, I take full responsibility for deploying the fleet. It was unnecessary, and I welcome any form of punishment you deem fit to make up for my mistake.’

                Magnus waved his claw. ‘No… no. Not necessary. I’m the one that should apologize. I wasn’t aware your mission bore fruit. As long as you recognize your mistake then I have no choice but to place my further trust in your judgement.’ He almost smiled. ‘Honestly, I haven’t been much myself lately. Not as clean. Not as… orderly. It’s a combination of this mess with the Decepticons, the Imperium breathing down my neck, and my own blasted age, I think. I apologize if I seem like an entire different person to you.’

                ‘It’s understandable.’ Prowl assured him. ‘We’re all on edge. It’s to be expected.’

                Magnus nodded, silently. The room was quiet, but Prowl’s mind was buzzing with possibilities.

                After their meeting, Prowl and Hubcap found themselves walking through the many corridors of the Hub’s complex. Hubcap had made the decision to walk Prowl to his office, as he wasn’t necessarily needed in the comms room the way Prowl was needed inter-galactically.

                ‘I didn’t know Magnus knew about my… you know, my business.’

                ‘Neither did I.’ Prowl frowned. ‘He might be smarter than I gave him credit for.’

                Hubcap rolled his optics. ‘There you go again. Meticulously cold Prowl. Always above everybody else.’

                ‘Shut up.’

                ‘No seriously. I want you to be honest with me, Prowl. Wheeljack was right about the whole Punch/Counterpunch thing, right? I mean, we all saw it. It’s not unlike you to consider things like that.’

                ‘Shut up.’

                ‘I’m not trying to be a jerk here, Prowl. I just genuinely want to know what your plan is.’

                He whirled around and struck the wall next to Hubcap. Cracks ran through the metal sheen of the Hub’s structure and rippled in vibrating soundwaves throughout the silver corridor. It shut Hubcap up, and that’s just what Prowl needed. ‘Listen,’ he said, turning to the short, communications officer. ‘You don’t know what it’s like for everyone to assume the worst of you. You’ll never know. If you want to be my friend, Hubcap, you’ll understand that sometimes, in this situation in particular, it isn’t unthinkable to presume that I am only trying to preserve the life of my friend.’

                Hubcap took a step back. ‘Prowl…’

                The Military Strategist was trembling. Fists clenched and optics flaring with cyan blue light under the shade of his sharp and symmetrically perfect head-crest. ‘Just… please believe me. Please, please believe me, for once.’

                ‘Hubcap grappled with his words. Even if he found the words, he wouldn’t know what to do with them.

                ‘Please...’

                But Prowl had trouble believing himself.

\-----

Starscream’s voice fizzled through the Nemesis’ overhead speakers. _‘Thundercracker, please home in on my position, thanks.’_

                Thundercracker, who had been tidying up his room after its brief habitation by Banzaitron’s men, raised his head and frowned. The fact that they were all probably dead gave him a brief respite from his grumbling and scrubbing. Slipstream was helping. “Helping.”

                ‘I didn’t know Starscream was on board.’

                ‘Ya-huh.’

                ‘Can’t say I was certain he was even alive.’

                ‘Ya-huh.’

                Thundercracker rose to his feet. ‘Guess I better meet with him. Don’t want to get, you know, killed.’

                ‘Hey if two Decepticons were stranded on Cybertron’s first moon and one killed the other would that be messed up or what?’

                ‘You know what, Slipstream?’ Without another word, Thundercracker turned around and left her in his room. Probably not the greatest idea at the time, but Thundercracker had reached that special level of uncaring that only Empties and blue Seekers working under Starscream would understand.

                He found Starscream standing in the middle of the Nemesis’ corridor. He was practically falling apart without the proper medical attention as pieces of metal littered the ground beneath him. Electricity surged across his chest and liquid dripped from his limbs, but he didn’t seem to mind. Or notice. He gestured to Thundercracker to take his side so he could show him something. ‘Look at this.’

                Thundercracker traced his line of sight. He was staring at one of his self-portraits. It depicted the Aerospace Commander posing atop a mound of Autobot corpses. Finger pointing to the sky, chest puffed outward like he owned the world, and expression sober and stern. In the portrait, the Autobot corpses were played by Thundercracker, Slipstream, Obsidian, and Strika; playing dead to the greater effect of their commander. At this point in time, however, a mustache had been drawn in thick black ink across Starscream’s face, and lines resembling gusts of wind had been drawing coming out of his aft, depicting a fart. Starscream, of course was not impressed.

                ‘Yeahhh, we really shouldn’t have let those guys on the ship.’

                ‘We didn’t have a choice, remember?’

                ‘I mean—well yeah—but still…’ he gestured to the defaced portrait. ‘Who does stuff like this? It’s uncouth.’

                Thundercracker flinched. ‘Did you seriously just say uncouth?’

                ‘Shut up. It’s a word. I can use words. Now come on.’ With a wide wave of his hand, Starscream glided down the corridor. To where, Thundercracker was not yet sure.

                ‘Er, where are we going? Starscream?’

                ‘We are _going_ to talk.’

                Thundercracker frowned at that. ‘That is the worst response to anything I’ve ever heard in my life. I hope you know that.’

                Starscream blinked down at him, then pressed a hand against a chipped door-frame. ‘Oh, yeah, sure whatever. Here, come follow me into this storage room here.’

                Thundercracker hesitated. ‘Can I refuse?’

                ‘The answer’s obviously no, dumbo.’ He parted the door concealing the room and clapped his hands. The lights activated, and the room was illuminated. Boxes of machinery and used objects took up the bulk of the room, forming a small maze of junk winding against the dusty, untouched walls. ‘Now close the door so we can—wait.’ Starscream lunged forward, and what remained of his weaponry activated. His arms melded into one large missile harbour, and his thrusters rotated forward, sending himself alight with the barrels of charged weaponry.

                Thundercracker ducked out of the way, expecting him to fire at the presence of a mere shadow. He had acted upon crazier impulses in the past. ‘What is it?!’

                ‘Did you see that? Please tell me you saw that.’

                ‘Saw what? What are you talking about, Starscream?’

                ‘You’re such a liar, Thundercracker, you saw something move in there just now, didn’t you? Tell me I’m not crazy.’

                Thundercracker scanned the room for a sign of movement, when he found none, he massaged the back of his neck and began to eye Starscream through worrying optics. ‘In this situation, I uh, don’t know _what_ to tell you.’

                Starscream snorted. ‘Fine. FINE! BRILLIANT! STUPENDOUS! I’ll simply drag them out myself! Then you’ll see! Then you’ll see!’

                _See how crazy you’ve become, maybe._ Thundercracker thought to himself, but dared not say out loud.

                Starscream’s optics flicked from one corner of the room to the next. Fidgeting with anticipation, his weaponry clacked and hummed as he took aim. ‘Attention freeloading a-holes! This is Aerospace Commander and soon-to-be Lord of the Decepticons: Starscream of Vos requesting—no, _commanding_ you to reveal yourselves to me this instant! If you refuse to show yourselves at the count of five then I will open fire and then you’ll _really_ wish you hadn’t boarded the ship of Aerospace Commander and soon-to-be—‘

                A box tipped over, and four bodies scuffled into view. Thundercracker recognized them as Gutcruncher, Charger, Take-Off, and Roadgrabber respectively.

                ‘Okay, okay.’ Gutcruncher bellowed, taking the forefront and raising his hands high above his head. ‘Just spare us from the introductions will you? We’re business partners, you and I. Remember? Just put the guns down already and we’ll talk this out like smart and civilized gentleman.’

                Smirking, Starscream morphed his arms back into their standard form. With a full hand in his possession, he leaned over and poked Thundercracker’s cheek. ‘I bet you feel like such a dick right now.’

                Thundercracker scowled. ‘With all due respect, maybe we should focus on the four stowaways on seeking shelter on our ship, Starscream.’

                Starscream clapped his hands together as he approached them. ‘Yes! Where to start, where to start…’ He observed Gutcruncher up and down. ‘Or rather, where might I find a reason not to kill you?’

                Gutcruncher stared at his pedes, and thought for a moment. He massaged his forehead as he grasped for an answer. ‘Because, uh, we can offer you money. Deals. An alliance towards future endeavours.’

                Starscream jerked back, pleasantly surprised. ‘You’re useful! I wasn’t expecting that. Let’s say I do form a partnership with you.’ He leaned forward until he came face to face with the Decepticon General. ‘Just what the hell are you going to want from _me?’_

Gutcruncher looked to his remaining troops for support. He found none. He turned back to Starscream and cleared his throat. ‘I think the four of us, at this particular time, would appreciate it if you could just drop us off somewhere. Kindly. Gently. Like, pretend we’re just some cargo that needs to reach its destination, and as soon as we’re gone, you won’t need to even think about us ever again.’

                Starscream raised a brow. He transformed one of his arms back into a null-ray.

                Gutcruncher took a step back, raising his hands in front of him in self-defence. ‘Ooooor you can be as rough with us as you like. We can take it, honest.’

                ‘We’re approaching a cyber-friendly organic colony.’ Starscream said, admiring his weapon. ‘It should be capable of repairing the Nemesis to full-operational status, as well as procuring you with a proper ship for transport.’

                The four stowaways relaxed. Shoulders lowering and vents exhaling in perfect unison.

                ‘That would be splendid,’ Gutcruncher said. ‘Thank you so much, Starscr—‘

                ‘However.’

                Gutcruncher tensed. _However_. It was never that easy with Starscream, and he was a fool for being so sure of himself.

                ‘You will pledge your loyalty to me. You can leave to the other corner of the galaxy for all I care, but if any of you kills Optimus before I do, you will either name me your eternal Lord and Master, or, you can sit on the throne, and await your execution by my hands. No matter what I ask, you will obey. Are we clear?’

                The four Decepticons exchanged looks, unsure of what Starscream’s ultimatum might have entailed. Gutcruncher stepped forward. ‘Um… I don’t know what it is you might want from me, but, uh, if it ensures our survival then…’ He lowered himself onto his knees, then brought his head within kissing distance of the floor. ‘All hail Lord Starscream.’

                Charger, Take-Off, and Roadgrabber stared down at their General in bafflement, before joining his place on the floor. Repeating similar praises to their new Lord.

                ‘Louder.’

                Gutcruncher rolled his eyes. ‘For the love of—ALL HAIL LORD STARSCREAM!’

Starscream’s null-ray formed back into a standard servo. ‘Hah. You see that Thundercracker? We’re going intergalactic!’ He flicked a wrist to Gutcruncher, motioning him to stand. ‘As for you. I want you off my ship as soon as possible. When we land, you will not be boarding back with us. However, I still want you to remain within close proximity. I have a job for you.’

                Gutcruncher reclined his head. ‘Er, yeah, whatever you say.’

                ‘Excellent!’ Starscream whirled around, leaving the four Decepticons alone in the storage room as he did. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some urgent business to attend to.’

                The Aerospace commander glided briskly down the purple hallway, leaving a stunned cluster of Decepticons in his wake.

                Thundercracker stared at Gutcruncher’s guild, nodded to them in greeting, and quickly jogged after his commander. ‘Starscream,’ he called to him. ‘What was that? And what the hell was it you wanted to talk to me about anyway?’

                ‘That’ll have to wait for later,’ he said. ‘It’s too crowded around here now… where are the others?’

                ‘Strika’s in the infirmary. Obsidian’s looking after her. Skywarp’s where he’s usually been and I think Slipstream’s… destroying my room.’

                ‘Aside from Gutcruncher’s little gang, I assume that’s everybody?’

                ‘Actually we, uh, sort of succeeded in capturing a prisoner. Ferak is in the infirmary with Strika. We’re hoping that once he’s repaired, he can help us get Skywarp dislodged from the ship.’

                ‘Inform Obsidian of Gutcruncher’s current situation. Also clean up while you can. I need to make a call.’

                ‘But—‘

                ‘This conversation is over. You know your job—leave me be.’

                Thundercracker stopped, nodded, and began walking in the opposite direction. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this.

\-----

 Soundwave leaned in his throne. It was the one that belonged to Megatron, and before Megatron, Clench, and before Clench, Dreadlock. It was a guilty pleasure of his. The throne was a symbol of power, and at that specific moment, to the eyes of the Decepticons, he was the most powerful. The throne room was made for the sake of intimidation in the presence of meetings and visitations, and though he preferred his office to do his business, taking his place on the literal throne was one of the few things that knocked him back into reality. Gold statues of past Decepticon and Destron leaders lined the walls. Dreadlock, Clench, Trannis, and Shockwave stood three times higher than when they lived, and were as still as they were the day they died. For a split second, he thought he saw his own frame standing among them and flinched, but soon realized he was only imagining things. Of course, Soundwave was almost certain that not all of them were dead. His fingertips dug into the arms of the glamourous chair. As much as he enjoyed to bask in his guilty state of power, he felt all too vulnerable in his notoriously dangerous position. His recent assassination attempt had scared him more than he thought it would. As a subtle member of high command, Soundwave never had to worry about losing his head to another greedy Decepticon looking for his job, as he had Megatron – and in some deranged way, Starscream – to protect him. There was a knock on the wide chamber’s doors.

                ‘Enter.’

                The doors parted, and a tall black Decepticon entered the room. It was Magnificus. The lanky intelligence agent stood and bowed to his temporary master, and awaited his permission to speak.

                ‘Report.’

                ‘Incoming holo-call from Starscream. Shall I patch him through?’

                ‘Affirmative. Leave us.’

                Magnificus bowed his head once more before turning to leave the throne-room. The moment the doors closed behind him, the hologram activated. Starscream stood, damaged and leaking, but he stood nonetheless. ‘Soundwave.’

                ‘What is it you require from me, Starscream?’

                ‘I want to talk about your proposition for me. Can I properly rely on your little “plan” to actually work out?’

                Soundwave slouched back in his seat. ‘It’s not a plan, Starscream. It is information. You do with it as you will.’

                ‘I see that. It’s just.’ Starscream stifled a chuckle. ‘Why me? Why would you ever give anything like that to me?’

                Soundwave thought of a response, and mimicked a shrug. ‘It didn’t have to be you. The blocks of life have simply fallen into such a place, that you have become my greatest asset.’

                ‘But you do realize that if you continue to help me, I _will_ succeed you.’

                He nodded.

                A droplet of Energon rolled from beneath Starscream’s helm down the rim of his nose and over his lips. ‘Well, that’s a problem for you, isn’t it? That the new leader of the future will be your bitter rival.’

                ‘You consider us rivals?’

                ‘Well, we’re certainly not friends.’

                Soundwave leaned forward in his throne. ‘Listen, Starscream. I needed Bludgeon out of the picture. He was the largest threat to the Decepticons’ existence. If he won, the war would end in a stale mate. For the sake of us all, the war cannot afford to end. You happened to be the closest guild in proximity to Bludgeon at the time. Parlaying the information to you was a part of my plan to remove him from the picture.’

                Starscream’s fists clenched, and something loose rattled inside his body. As his brow furrowed, his facial plating cracked. ‘That _doesn’t_ answer my question.’

                ‘You want to know about you, don’t you,’ Soundwave grinned beneath his faceplate. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it Starscream?’

                For once, Starscream was silent.

                Soundwave stared back at the golden statues aligning the throne-room and tried to imagine Starscream standing as one of them. He couldn’t. ‘Starscream, if you were to become Leader, what would be your main goal?’

                Starscream flinched at that. He grasped for the words. ‘To uh…’

                ‘What is it Starscream? You’re Supreme Commander. What is your goal? Your motive?’

                ‘To, uh… kill the…’

                ‘Speak up. Your Lord Regent Commands it.’

                Starscream lowered his eyes. ‘To commit Autobot Genocide and achieve conquest on a universal scale. Like the Decepticons are destined to.’

                Soundwave rose from his chair. ‘Exactly. Nothing more. Nothing less. You, and your goals, and your feelings, are completely unremarkable in every sense of the word.’

                Starscream tried to speak, but gobs of oil released from his throat instead. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees.

                ‘And as long as the future Leader of the Decepticons is unremarkable in every sense of the word, then all will be well. As far as I care.’

                Starscream landed on his side, body crumbling and collapsing; liquid spilling out onto the Nemesis floor, staining it a pitch black.

                ‘You have every opportunity to kill Optimus at this time. If you do not, then so be it. I have given similar information to over one-hundred others just like you. How you choose to use the information is—’

                But Starscream could no longer hear is age-old rival’s voice. His body had sustained enough damage, and was beginning to collapse in on itself. A hand shook him. He could see Thundercracker shaking him before losing his vision indefinitely.

                ‘Starscream!’ Thundercracker shouted at him. ‘Starscream! What happened?! Wake up!’

                ‘….Puppet.’

                ‘What?!’

                Liquid gathered around his eyes, and streamed down the sides of his face. ‘It doesn’t matter if I win or lose. I’ll still forever be his puppet…’ His hearing and vision gone, Starscream felt himself falling into stasis lock as Thundercracker called for help.


	55. Vaudeville

                The solar-system’s star shone scarlet rays upon the brown and blue planet below. The planet was of a smaller stature, with a mechanical “bee-hive” crust that encompassed the inner orb. It was a neutral mech-planet in the vice-quadrant, one that had been populated with a cocktail of mechanical, organic, and even bio-mechanical creatures and humanoids; co-existing peacefully on the stylized surface below. The Ark had begun its slow descent onto the planet’s surface. The four crew-members of the golden space-ship regarded the planet out the front window-pane as they did.

                Ironhide blocked his eyes from the sun’s rays as they descended onto the planet. He let out a huff. ‘Damned sun. Always getting in yer eyes… Nothing but a hindrance.’

                Optimus took his side on the bridge, gazing out at the planet below. ‘Cybertron had a sun. Earth too. Pretty sure most habitable planets have suns, Ironhide.’

                ‘So?’

                He shrugged. ‘Just saying. We kind of need them.’

                ‘Bah.’ He reared his head away in disgust. Facing away from the window-pane, Ironhide lumbered his way out of the light and into the shadow of Jazz’s control console. ‘Says you, maybe.’

                Optimus watched him and scratched the back of his head. ‘Also one-hundred percent of scientists, but yeah, says me, I guess.’

                The main console was a few bodies higher from the floor, and as such Jazz had to jerk his head to face his colleagues below. He had been leaning back in his chair, arms resting behind his head and legs propped up on the console. ‘You know Ironhide, Chief. He’s just trying to find something to complain about ‘cause he hasn’t got anything interesting to say.’

                Ironhide growled from his nook beneath the console. ‘Don’t you start too, Jazz! I’ll make you eat those words faster than I can throw you.’ He paused, and thought about what he said. ‘Which is… pretty fast.’

                Rosanna perked up from behind Jazz. ‘Don’t you mean how “far” you can throw him?’

                Optimus flinched, ‘Primus—how long have you been up there?’

                She huffed. ‘I’ve been here for a, ah… reasonable amount of time. By a reasonable person’s standards.’

                Jazz wasn’t phased in the slightest. ‘Honestly I’ve been up here for a while, and I hadn’t even noticed.’

                Optimus scoffed. ‘Some spec-ops agent you turned out to be.’

                Jazz looked over his shoulder at Rosanna and smiled. ‘Y’sure you weren’t trying to sneak up on me?’

                She put on a look of forced shock. ‘Of course not! I was just…’ she tapped her finger-tips together, ‘you know, hanging out… back here.’

                Blackarachnia came around from the other side of the console on the main floor below. ‘Nah, no, that’s a lie. She’s been staring at Jazz’s caboose. I know because I was watching her do it.’

                She almost shrieked. ‘I did not!’

                Optimus raised an understanding palm in Rosanna’s direction. ‘It is okay, Rosanna. We’re all in agreement when it comes to Jazz’s caboose. It is one of the most mesmerizing sights in the galaxy.’

                Rosanna stuttered and struggled with her words, and, finding she had nothing more to say in response, transformed into a small tape-deck shape and inserted her into one of the console’s data-ports to hide.

                Optimus turned to Ironhide. ‘What’s a caboose?’

                Ironhide shrugged.

                Jazz removed his headphones. ‘Sorry, I’ve only been paying attention to about half this conversation. Just one a those days, y’know?’

                ‘Yeah.’ Optimus looked back out the window-pane. They were fast approaching the ground. The city-scape was outfitted with primitive, but not ineffective technologies. Much of it was pigmented with a bronze colouration and appeared to be steam powered of all things. Though among these steam-powered devices were flying machines and bullet-trains no different from the technological advances of Cybertron, Optimus couldn’t help but assume them to be primitive in nature if only because of their appearances. Optimus had read about this planet – as with many other planets – in his training at the Academy. It was named Planet Vaudeville, and he knew it to be one of the limited mech-friendly colonies that would be capable of – and willing to—repair his ship for a fee.

                He turned back to his team, ‘Okay guys, here is how it’s going to go down. Jazz, Ironhide, the two of you will be accompanying me in traversing the city’s marketplace. We’ll be gathering supplies, ammunition, information; anything you think we might need in the coming journey. We’ll meet back up by the time the Ark has been refueled and repaired.’

                They nodded in unison.

                ‘Right, Prime.’

                ‘Whatever you say, chief.’

                 ‘Rosanna will stay here, obviously, and Blackarachnia,’ he locked eyes with her, ‘you will stay here and protect the ship in case anything goes awry.’

                The ex-Decepticon looked at him with a bored expression. ‘You’re seriously pulling this? Seriously? I mean, I know I’m the best line of defense you got, and I’m flattered, but are you actually going to force me to stay cooped up in here while you guys are out having fun shopping adventures?’

                Optimus had already made his way toward her and slammed the wall with the back of his hand. Jazz and Ironhide flinched, but Blackarachnia maintained her eye-contact. Optimus said his piece. ‘Look, you should know that this isn’t us having some wacky adventure, not all the time, at least. As such, measures need to be taken. Sober thought processes, and intelligent ideas are required to ensure our survival. As such, you are required to follow my orders without question. Do you understand?’

                She grinded her denta, baring her fangs the way a coyote might. ‘Right, and because this totally isn’t you taking one out of me for not being the perfect crewmember of your perfect family.’

                ‘No I—‘ he leaned in toward her, covering his mouth from Jazz and Ironhide. He spoke in a whisper so that only he and Blackarachnia would be able to hear what was being said. ‘It’s because as far as trust goes, I rate you above Jazz. And I’m not leaving Jazz alone on the ship, and I’m definitely not taking you _and_ Jazz together with me. I’m afraid that would be worse than taking you with Ironhide, so just please, _please,_ understand just this once.’

                She studied him clinically. Skeptically. She snorted, and looked aside. ‘Fine. Whatever. You’re the boss, Optimus.’

                He took a breath, and stepped away from her. ‘We’ll be landing in a few seconds. Get ready to roll out.’

\-----

                Strika, lying upright in her angled medical slab, had been watching the med-bay’s main computer monitor, regarding the televised broadcasts with a critical wit. She had been feeding on Energon-goodies, which she kept in a large bag at her waist and had plenty to spare. She raised a hand in bafflement at the series of events depicted on the screen. ‘I can’t believe this! This chick is hunting down her arch nemesis—who killed one of her partners—and she just decides _not_ to kill her? She’s at war! She just decapitated, like, three dudes! You can’t just choose the moral high-ground _now!_ That’s beyond inconsistent—it’s stupid!’ She reached into her bag and stuffed her face. ‘I wonder what’s going to happen next episode.’

                Thundercracker and Obsidian stared at Starscream. He had been knocked out and hooked up to the Nemesis’ power-systems, though they had both been hesitant about the decision. The Nemesis was still extremely low on fuel, and had no real fire-power left. Still, Starscream was their leader, and regardless of their feelings of ill-will towards him, it really wasn’t their say to let him die. With everything secured, Obsidian and Thundercracker turned their attention to the third patient in the room: Ferak. He was unconscious, his eyes a dim magenta, and much of his body crumpled and broken into heaps. Metal clamps had held his arms and legs in place so that he wouldn’t struggle should he come to. The door was locked, and as such Slipstream couldn’t get in to screw anything up for them.

                Strika nearly spat, ‘Oh come on! The cast is like, twice as big, and they _still_ haven’t changed the intro?! Who thought this was a good idea?!’

                Thundercracker winced at her. ‘Is she always like this?’

                ‘Focus, Thundercracker.’

                He cleared his throat. ‘Right, sorry.’

                Obsidian tapped the side of Ferak’s head. ‘Negotiations will not be easy. For all he knows we murdered his entire fleet.’ He looked up at Thundercracker and frowned. ‘Including his Conjunx Endura.’

                Thundercracker nodded, but the disdain the memory brought to him was written all over his face. ‘We pretty much did just that, though.’

                Obsidian raised a single digit. ‘Ah, yes, but _he_ doesn’t have to know that. It’s called…’ he looked from side to side to make sure nobody was listening it, and leaned forward, ‘ _…lying.’_

Thundercracker rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘Okay Obsidian, I think I’m beginning to understand what Starscream always says about your smart-assery.’

                He feigned shock. ‘He says _what_ about me?’

                ‘Let’s just get this over and done with.’

                ‘Yes, let’s…’ he jerked up for a moment. ‘Oh, I love this part.’

                Thundercracker traced his view and saw he was looking at the screen. He turned back, scowling. ‘You hypocrite.’

                ‘And he’s awake!’ Obsidian announced.

                Ferak’s eyes came alive. Dazed, he looked around briefly, and realizing where he was, let out a high-pitched scream.

                Obsidian grabbed his shoulders as he shook. ‘Restrain him!’

                Thundercracker grabbed his legs. ‘He _is_ restrained!’

                ‘Holding him may calm him down—we can’t let him short-circuit on us!’

                Thundercracker nodded, and, started shouting at him—which he soon recognized was only going to have the opposite effect on him. ‘Ferak! Listen to me—we did _not_ kill your Conjunx!’

                He only screamed louder.

                ‘Ferak—‘

                Ferak jerked up, wrists breaking from the clamps and body springing from the slab. He reached for Thundercracker, grabbing him by the throat. Thundercracker reached for his rifle, but before he had the chance, Obsidian’s fingers wrapped around the sides of Ferak’s head.

                Thundercracker’s eyes widened. ‘Obsidian—don’t—!’

                With one mighty wrench, Ferak’s head was torn from his body.

                Ferak’s decapitated head in his hands, Obsidian raised the trophy high enough for Strika to see. Liquid trailed from the bottom of his neck and his eyes flickered black. Ferak’s statuesque servos had still been in the frozen motion of strangling Thundercracker, as if the body still had a semblance of life in it.

                ‘Pity,’ Obsidian said, examining the severed head in his hands.

                Thundercracker knocked Ferak’s lifeless body aside and reached for the head. ‘Obsidian, give him to me—we may still be able to re-attach his head to the rest of his body—‘

                ‘Strika!’

                She craned her head around from her show. ‘Whuh?’

                ‘Think fast!’ Obsidian tossed the head to Strika, who promptly leaped from her slab and spiked the head into the ground like a volley-ball. Ferak’s head split and splattered like an egg—staining the floor purple and black, and spraying a gush of viscera over Obsidian and Thundercracker’s once-spotless frames.

                ‘No!’ Thundercracker grabbed the sides of his head, fell to his knees. ‘He was the only one who knew how to remove Skywarp from the ship! He was the only one that could do _anything_ and you killed him!’

                Obsidian steepled his fingers as he hovered over the blue seeker. ‘My apologies, Thundercracker, but I could tell that, from the shock of course, his mind was unable to fully compensate the lack of spark and forced itself to expire. The pressure killed him before he even left my hands. I’m sorry.’

                Thundercracker slammed his fist against the table. ‘I ought to kill the lot of you…’

                ‘What?’

                He shook his head, teeth gritted with rage. ‘I’m just tired of things not going my way is all,’ he moved away from the slab and unlocked the door. ‘Just… tired in general, I guess.’

                Slipstream stumbled in. ‘What I miss?’ she spotted the pool of blood in the center of the room. ‘Oh. Cool. You guys had a good time it seems. I take it this was a success?’

                Thundercracker smacked her shoulder as he passed her by, knocking her into the wall slightly as he did.

                She looked up at Obsidian. ‘Damn. That was my fantasy. Shoulda asked him to hit me harder.’ She cackled. ‘Heh. Kidding! I’m more of a foot person anyway, heheh.’

                Obsidian squinted at her, then looked back at the gore. Liquid was dripping from the edges of the slabs where it did not once before. ‘Well, at least sanitation is Thundercracker’s duty.’

                Starscream roused from his sleep, and stared at the mess on the slab beside him. Blinking, he looked up at Obsidian and smirked. ‘Someone had a good time—‘

                ‘Slipstream already said that.’

                ‘Oh.’ He turned his attention to the program Strika was watching. Brow furrowed, the Aerospace Commander fell back into his slab. ‘This show sucks.’

                Strika nodded, popping another Energon goodie into her mouth. ‘Ya-huh.’

\-----

Optimus waited as Ironhide and Jazz reconvened on his position in the middle of the square. While the thought of a steam-powered paradise was enticing at first, he had been forced to suffer organic residents poking his sides and observing his system in guilty delight. They would ask him who his manufacturer is, where he’s from, if he’s a true Cybertronian, if they can see him transform, and all the usual questions. He sucked it up and kept telling himself that a planet that loved machine-life was better than one that hated it. And he had already dealt with that before on Talon.

                Jazz and Ironhide met with him, showing off their subspace cubes. Ironhide had purchased feed for Mouthful the pet spider, ammunition, a variety of guns and knives for his collection, and so on. Jazz, who had gathered information, found that Cybertronians don’t usually come around the planet and have at times even avoided it despite its technological and cultural achievements. Optimus could see why. ‘So is that everything? I take it we got everything we need?’

                Jazz threw his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Actually, I came across a joint a ways back that’s selling Energon derivatives for fine mechs like us. I don’t know if you know this, but this place is _really_ mech friendly.’

                ‘No kidding.’ Optimus thought about it for a moment, then nodded. ‘Sure. One drink and then we’ll head back to the Ark. It should be fueled and ready to go by now anyway.’ He prepared to transform, and noticed that every civilian in the vicinity had started watching. He cleared his throat. ‘Autobots, transform and roll out.’

                The bio-mechanicals cheered and clapped their hands as the three Autobots transformed into their vehicular configurations.

                ‘This is so embarrassing,’ Optimus said.

                ‘I dunno,’ Jazz mused. ‘I kind of like being the center of attention, for once.’

\-----

Blackarachnia yawned at the control panel. Banging her head against the rim in boredom. Rosanna came up from behind her, tapping her feet together and humming one of her songs.

                Blackarachnia cleared her throat. ‘Can I, um, help you?’

                ‘Who, me? What? No. I’m as peachy as a…’ she pondered her words, struggling to think up a punchline worthy of her skills.

                ‘Peach?’

                ‘Eh?’

                ‘As peachy as a peach?’

                She shrugged at that. It was better than whatever she would have thought up, sadly.

                Blackarachnia slouched over the monitor, holding her head up with her claws. ‘Listen, Rosanna, as bored out of my mind as I am, I’m not really in the mood to talk with you.’

                Rosanna waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Oh no. Me neither. I’m a very quiet person, y’know? Kind of a brooding individual.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s funny, everyone sees the star as some happy-go-lucky idol, but we’ve got secrets too, y’know? We idols have a dark side to us. Dark, brooding, tortured kind of pasts like that.’

                ‘Yeah? Sounds fun.’

                She pouted. ‘Are you even listening to me? I mean, not that you should since we’re not talking right now, but still…’

                Blackarachnia leaned back in her chair. ‘I’m not blind, Rosanna. I know what’s going on here. I realize they’re having a “just guys” thing out there, but that doesn’t mean we have to have some kind of… of girl-talk here. I don’t even know you, and besides, the last time I had a “girl-talk” I was hit on by an Autobot assassin or something.’

                Rosanna nodded vigorously. ‘Oh, yeah, no. I hear you, girl. I hear you. No need for stupid, pointless, talk like that. I got you, friend.’

                She went silent. And after a few minutes, the entire ship was silent. Blackarachnia exhaled, and closed her four eyes. Silence. Finally, she could bask in her thoughts. Just her and herself, like it was always meant to be. She had almost completely forgotten Rosanna was even there. Just her, the silence, and her inner thoughts.

                Rosanna suddenly burst the silence wide open. ‘So who would you rather, Optimus, or Ironhide?’

                Blackarachnia leaped from her chair, eyes wide. ‘That’s it, I can’t stand this. I tried, but I failed— I’m going to bed!’

                Rosanna folded her arms and nodded as she watched her leave. ‘Alright. That’s cool. I’ll catch you on the flipside, then. Later… hater.’ With Blackarachnia gone, Rosanna stood alone in the control room. It was quiet with no one else around.

\-----

                Optimus stared into the contents of his drink. Energon derivatives were always terrible. It was an objective fact. Still, Energon came in short supply, and as such derivatives and substitutes were usually all they could afford. Any pure Energon they encountered had been fed into the Ark to keep it in optimal condition. Optimus scratched the back of his head. ‘I kind of feel bad we didn’t bring Blackarachnia along with us.’

                ‘I don’t,’ Ironhide said, sipping from a straw.

                ‘Speaking of,’ Jazz said, ‘What were you and her talking about back on the ship?’

                ‘Never mind that,’ Optimus said, ‘I just wish this icy phase between us will end sooner or later.’ He stared at them, and they stared back. ‘I mean, it _will_ blow over eventually, right? Nothing lasts forever.’

                Ironhide nodded, staring down into his drink. ‘Aint that the truth.’

                Jazz shrugged. ‘Hell, as long as I get to have my drink on then I’ve got nothing against it.’ He raised his glass. ‘To, uh… unbroken friendships…?’

                Optimus shrugged. ‘Yeah, sure.’ He clinked glasses with Jazz, then to Ironhide. ‘To unbroken friendships.’ As he sipped from his drink, he let out a groan. ‘Ugh, these drinks… this atmosphere… it has Talon IV written all over it. I’m getting flashbacks…’

                Jazz took a large gulp of his drink. ‘What’s wrong with Talon IV? Those cats seem cool enough to me.’ He paused, and shook his head. ‘Before the whole Bludgeon thing, I mean. My bad.’

                Ironhide grunted. ‘We got held up by some Quintesson jerks. Folks wouldn’t let us out. Quintesson-owned establishments. Not a good place to be a Cybertronian.’

                ‘Cybertronians eh?’ The bartender appeared from the back of the counter, polishing his metal digits with a washcloth. He was tall and lean, and was dressed orange and blue armour that covered his figure from head to toe. He appeared to have been constructed with parts that formed some kind of alien-jet.  

                The three Autobots stared as the bartender grinned. ‘Yeah—you won’t find any Quintessons here, no-siree—heh. Haven’t seen a Quintesson around these parts since the gathering. All those friendlies putzing about, standing together like a great force of peace and freewill—they didn’t like any of it—Heh. My buddy went to Talon once; says it ain’t so great. I’m guessing you two would get along great.’ He cleared his throat and moved to begin polishing a glass. ‘But—heh—speaking of Cybes, I’m one myself! Name’s Trigger. Got myself a job at this place back when Vaudevile was nothin’ more than a Ghetto. Been workin’ ever since. Had to get out, y’know? War didn’t want me—couldn’t handle me, technically—Heh—so my buddy an’ I just left, you know? We came here, found ourselves some sympathizers, and got ourselves some humble jobs. Been here ever since. Nice place, too. Don’t have to worry about cons coming by to finish the job. I used to be quite the rascal y’know—‘

                ‘That’s nice.’ Optimus turned back to Jazz. ‘We got blamed by the Quints for a Decepticon invasion. They were Slipstream’s folk, but Starscream took care of them. It was a pretty strange day all around.’

                Ironhide nodded. ‘Yeah, but like you’re one to talk.’

                Optimus frowned. ‘Pardon?’

                ‘You didn’t have to deal with the Quints—you ran out on us before they could do anything about it.’

                ‘Well yeah, that’s because I saw… saw…’ Optimus blinked, staring past Ironhide and Jazz at the cloaked figure behind them.

                ‘What’d you see?’ Ironhide asked.

                ‘I saw…’ On Talon IV he spotted a cloaked figure leave the Quintessonian bar. And in Trigger’s bar, he spotted him once more. He was moving towards the exit, preparing to leave. It was who he was looking for. The one who would make everything right for him. At last, he had found him. ‘It’s just like on Talon.’

                Jazz cocked his head to the side. ‘What?’

                ‘Except this time, it will be different.’ Suddenly, Optimus leaped from his stool, barrelling through the air before landing on a card-strewn table-top. He moved again, knocking over a mini-pitcher in the process. Ignoring the complaining guests, Optimus leaped from table to table, and into the cloaked figure, knocking them to the ground where they writhed and squirmed. In spite of his smaller stature Optimus had managed to wrestle the figure into place. Jazz and Ironhide leaped from their seats, gawking at the event that had just transpired.

                ‘What the hell are you doing, Prime?!’ Ironhide hollered.

                ‘This is him!’ Optimus cried back. ‘I’ve found him!’

                ‘Wait,’ Ironhide spat. ‘THAT’s the guy? The guy you say you’ve been looking for…’ He shook his head in disbelief, ‘Is _this?!’_

                Optimus grunted. ‘I have reason to believe so.’

                The cloaked figure cried out. ‘Get off me you perilous ruffian!’

                ‘Not today.’ Optimus said, ripping off the robot’s cloak. With the hood gone, the figure’s face was revealed to the bar’s shocked patrons.

                Optimus dropped his servos to his sides. It was a Cybertronian, but not the Cybertronian he was looking for. He wore the symbol and his cloak and everything, yet it wasn’t him. The Cybertronian had an ordinary facial appearance, and seemed to stare daggers into Prime’s eyes, as if it were already obvious that he had nothing to do with him. He couldn’t blame him, Optimus had to admit he had screwed up. He clasped his hands over his face. ‘Aww, crap. I’m so sorry—I seem to have tackled the wrong person.’

                The Cybertronian cleared his throat where he was. ‘Would you mind getting the hell off of me? This cloak stains you know.’

                ‘Oh, sorry.’

                ‘Mindwipe!’ Trigger called from behind the bar. Sprouting from his body were several blinking laser-cannons, missile-cannisters, and shoulder-launchers, printing red laser-patterns on Prime’s torso. As soon as they realized what was happening, the majority of the bar’s patrons grabbed their things and darted out the nearest exit and into the streets. Even they knew how deadly a Cybertronian stand-off could be. ‘Buddy, you okay? You want me to fill him with holes?’ He was practically salivating at the thought. ‘Please let me shoot ‘em full a’ holes.’

                Mindwipe waved him away as he rose to his feet. ‘Heavens, no!’

                Optimus sighed in relief, lowering his guard around the Cybertronian before motioning to Ironhide and Jazz to do the same. ‘Oh, thank you. I was afraid we were about to start something here.’

                ‘After all,’ Mindwipe had been dusting himself off. ‘If I wanted to, I could have easily reduced him to a power of smouldering ash with a single mental synapse!’

                Optimus stared at the black and brown Decepticon. He was one of _those._

 _‘_ Also because we renounced doing that kind of thing when we left the Decepticons,’ Mindwipe quickly added.

Trigger retracted his guns and stared at his boots in disappointment. ‘Aww.’

                ‘My apologies,’ Mindwipe said, approaching Jazz and Ironhide. ‘My friend Triggerhappy here is still participating in, how shall I put it…? Social rehab?’

                Ironhide eyed the two top to bottom and snorted. ‘You say you used to be Decepticons?’ Steam exerted from his face-plate. ‘You sure you want to press us any further? We have a bit of a history of smashing your kind into the dirt.’

                Mindwipe raised a single digit. ‘Key-word: used to be. We have since shed our allegiances with those mass murdering buffoons.’ He placed a hand on his chest and proudly arched his back. ‘Our abilities simply outweighed them.’

                Triggerhappy tilted his head at that. ‘Yeaahhhh, actually it’s more like Mindwipe got on a lot a’ people’s nerves and I happen to have the highest friendly-fire count in the history of the Decepticons. We were pretty much kicked out when you really consider it.’

                ‘Annoying colleagues and murdering them?’ Jazz wondered, trying to picture it in his mind. ‘I feel like there’s a bit of a disparity between your actions you aren’t addressing.’

                Triggerhappy chuckled. ‘It’s kind of a long story.’

                Mindwipe swept a digit in Triggerhappy’s direction. ‘SILENCE!’ When everyone went silent, Mindwipe faked a cough and turned to Optimus. ‘So, uh… while you are here in my presence, is there anything the great Mindwipe may help you with today?’

                Optimus grinned beneath his faceplate. It wasn’t his destination, but it was a start. ‘Actually, I do have a certain something in mind.’

                Ironhide and Jazz reacted in unison. ‘You do?’ They exchanged looks with each other, sharing a common, and well-deserved skepticism after all that Prime had hidden from them.


	56. Fortune

Starscream stretched his limbs as he navigated through the familiar halls. Good as new, he’d say as he rotated his shoulders. He checked over his internal weaponry with pride. His chest cavity opened and closed, briefly revealing a fresh set of infernal missiles. His shoulders rotated into energy beams and missile capsules, even his face split apart revealing rows of laser-cannons. His arms and legs aligned with his null-rays and missile-launchers, and mini-turrets and saw-blades sprouted out from across his body. His weaponry activated until he became a walking weapons platform, dressed to the brim with terrifying firepower. He was barely Cybertronian with everything revealed. Not even his head was intact— he was faceless, a humanoid form barely existent in the cacophony of high-class Cybertronian weaponry that engulfed his being. Then, in an instant, all of it snapped back together, and he was in his elegant, beautiful robot-form once more. He smirked, and looked down at his clenched fist. Optimus would never stand a chance now.

                He pushed open the doors to the warp engine room where Thundercracker stood. His arms folded, Thundercracker had been examining at the crucified robot above. Skywarp was still in stasis. Still morphed to the ship. Thundercracker had been waiting for Skywarp’s revival since the beginning, yet here he was, staring at his stasis-locked body months after he would have seen him awakened. Delay after delay, Thundercracker still couldn’t see his friend. In the short respites Skywarp did wake, he was delirious and forgetful. He was yet to be the full person he was. Starscream had to admit, the scientist buried deep inside of him was curious of the conditions of Skywarp’s amnesia. He had used his teleportation before, and once he was leader, he would surely use it again. For the first time in a long time, Skywarp was of use to him.

                He took Thundercracker’s side, slapping him on the back suddenly and sending him lurching forward. ‘Why the long face oh favourite blue seeker of mine? We’re on the fast track to killing Optimus, aren’t we?’

                He frowned at his commander. ‘According to your personal judgement, maybe. The Nemesis is running out of power, Starscream. Fast. If we don’t find some way to refuel it soon…’

                As if on cue, the overhead lights fizzled out, rendering the room dark. The remaining sources of light rested in the glowing buttons and flashing lights of engine equipment.

                Thundercracker growled. ‘You see what I mean? We are _not_ in a good position, Starscream. We might not even make it to the next planet!’

                Starscream raised his upper lip, massaging the back of his neck as he did. ‘Alright. Then what would you suggest are our options, head science officer?’ He gestured to Skywarp. ‘Would our personal ground-bridge be capable of redirecting his power to our main systems?’

                ‘Of course not. Skywarp _relies_ on the system’s energy. He doesn’t contribute to it!’

                Starscream let out a growl, turning his head from the crucifixion. ‘Well we bloody well better find something to contribute to it. I could barely navigate through these halls without a worm-hole cropping up in front of me. I can’t see us navigating the entire ship to a pit-stop in one piece.’

                Thundercracker shook his head as he thought. ‘What about Ferak? You think there will be enough spark energy left in him to charge the ship?’

                Starscream scoffed. ‘There’s barely enough left _of_ him. Even I can tell he won’t be enough to keep the power back on, but if you want to try, be my guest.’

                At that moment, Gutcruncher burst into the engine room. ‘Hey, you guys know what happened to the lights?’

                Thundercracker and Starscream eyed each-other, and in unison, they spoke: ‘Or we could just use him.’

\-----

                ‘Are we really doing this?’ Ironhide grumbled.

                ‘Just humour them,’ Optimus replied with a wave of his hand.

                Mindwipe set his crystal ball on the table-top, wiping the dust away with the hem of his cloak. ‘Now, now, we had a deal. You pay me for my skills, and I tell you whatever you wish to know.’

                Ironhide sat before Mindwipe while Optimus, Jazz and Triggerhappy surrounded the bar-table. Ironhide leaned over to Jazz. _‘You hearing this? He called ‘em “skills”.’_

_‘Hey, if seeing the future does him good then seeing the future does him good. Now tone it down, I think he can hear you.’_

                ‘Now then, the first look into your future,’ Mindwipe examined the ball, looking deep into Ironhide’s fate. ‘What was once obscura, has now become clear to my mind, and my mind alone. I see through the web of time with my third eye, and with my third eye witness its end, and from its end, I see the time we have now.’ He squinted at the ball.

                ‘So what is it,’ Ironhide said. ‘What do you _supposedly_ see in my future?’

                ‘My, my…’ he grinned up at the weapons specialist. ‘Not a lot.’

                ‘Eh?’

                Mindwipe shrugged. ‘Some fights. Some conflicts. I apologize, friend, but it seems to me your life isn’t all that interesting. This isn’t necessarily bad, per se, but many seem to prefer a larger role in the grand scheme of things.’

                Ironhide rolled his optics and stood up. ‘Told you so. Nothing but a load.’

                Jazz sighed. ‘Guess it’s my turn then.’ Mindwipe nodded for him to sit down as he prepared the next fortune.

                Ironhide nudged Triggerhappy. ‘So what’s your story?’

                He shrugged. ‘Not much of a story. Like a lot of cons we left just after the surge. Our commander was Scorponok, y’see, and either he abandoned the cause, or he got buried under a pile of rubble and died a sad death. Considering all the unidentified bodies we scrounged up, chances are the latter. Poor sap.’ He shrugged again. ‘Either way we had nowhere to be when the surge ended. Like everyone else we were cut off from the rest of the Conclave. Only instead of forming our own independent factions, we kind of just… puttered off. Scorponok was dead, and none of us had any leadership potential. We didn’t have much desire to lead, let alone fight, left in us. For a while we traveled as a group, but like I said, puttered off. Mindwipe and I were the only ones to stick together in the end but, heh, at least the pay’s good.’

                ‘Shut up!’ Mindwipe snapped, rubbing the tips of his digits against the orb. ‘I’m trying to see the future here!’ He gazed into the ball and hummed. He outstretched a single digit to Jazz. ‘I’ll be honest, things are looking kind of muddled. You are kind of empty and directionless. I’d say you have a number of options available to you, but that you just don’t seem motivated to take any of them. Instead of choosing a crossroads, you remain stagnated in place. I cannot say what that means or why, but there it is.’

                Jazz appeared to seriously consider this for a few moments, then leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘If that’s supposed to mean I like to go with the flow then that’s fine by me.’

                Mindwipe made a so-so gesture with his servo. ‘I’d opine that it is something… other than the sort, but—‘

                ‘Alright,’ Optimus gestured Jazz to move over and took his place in front of the crystal ball. ‘Let’s hurry this process up.’

                Mindwipe squinted at him. ‘Very well.’ He stared into the ball, reading Prime’s future.

                Jazz turned to Triggerhappy. ‘I take it you knew about the whole bounty business?’

                ‘That we did. I wouldn’t worry though, we aren’t bad guys anymore,’ he chuckled at their skeptical glances and raised his hands. ‘Promise!’

                Mindwipe rose from his chair. ‘A long and happy life.’

                Optimus frowned up at him. ‘What?’

                ‘That’s your future. I’m afraid there isn’t much else to say.’

                Optimus rolled his eyes. Holding his gaze up at Ironhide. ‘You were right, this guy _is_ a load of bull.’

                Mindwipe twirled his hand. ‘Yes, yes, now you said you wanted to ask me some questions? You want to do it in private, I presume?’

                Optimus nodded, rising from his chair. ‘Yes.’

                Ironhide quickly grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Hey, uh, Prime. You know you can tell us your goals, right? We’re with you ‘til the end. If finding this guy is that important to you, we’ll understand.’

                Optimus stared at him before shrugging him off and following Mindwipe behind the bar.

                Ironhide and Jazz stood alone with Triggerhappy, who gleefully reached into his subspace and pulled out a series of small needle-like objects. ‘You guys like darts?’

                He tossed one at the nearest dart-board in the establishment and hit a white space. ‘I never get to play with anyone.’

                Ironhide groaned and snatched a handful from the former Decepticon.

\-----

Charger slammed aside the engine-room doors as he entered. Brandishing a servo in the direction of the center-piece. ‘What the hell is this?!’

                Gutcruncher was position next to Skywarp. Tubes and wires connecting his chest orifice to the ship’s power-conductor. Thundercracker and Starscream stood beside him, marvelling their work.

                Gutcruncher looked up at Charger. ‘I know how this looks, Charger, but trust them! This was with my consent!’

                ‘I don’t give a crap about consent!’ Charger said, marching over to Starscream. ‘I did _not_ sign up for _my_ General to be used as a tool! As an object for the gains of…’ he almost spat the name, ‘of _Starscream!_ ’

                Starscream raised his hands above his head. ‘Whoa, hey, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Without Gutter over here the Nemesis wouldn’t last a cycle, and besides…’ He leaned over Charger, grinning at the smaller mathematician. ‘ _I_ am your General now.’

                Thundercracker put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Look, I understand why you’re upset, but we need someone to hook their spark to the power-conductor, and otherwise we’ll never make it to our next destination. I _know_ you can see that.’

                He shook his head. ‘Gutcruncher doesn’t deserve this. He pulled me through the thick of it to save my life.’ He stared at the power-conductor. ‘It should have been one of you.’

                ‘Please,’ Starscream said. ‘Unlike Skywarp, this is easily reversible, and besides…’ he stopped when he saw Charger’s hand hovering next to his pistol and readied his null-ray as well. He’d kill Gutcruncher’s second without a second thought. Charger was nobody after all—a “genericon” of sorts.

                A hand landed on Charger’s shoulder. It was Obsidian. ‘Why don’t you calm down, Charger, I come with news.’ He beamed at Starscream. ‘We are fast approaching a habited planet run by mechanical life. I researched their methods, and they should have materials needed to refuel the Nemesis and refill its ammunition.’

                Starscream clapped his hands together. ‘Y’see! He won’t be hooked up for much longer after all!’ He tapped Charger playfully on his faceplate, right where his nose would be. ‘I bet you feel like such a dick right now.’

                Charger glared back at him before storming back out of the room.

                Obsidian sighed, ‘I’ll go talk to him,’ and hovered over to the exit.

                When they were gone, Thundercracker whispered. ‘We should have that talk now.’

                Starscream raised a brow. ‘What?’

                He kept his voice low so Gutcruncher would not hear, and gestured for Starscream to follow away from the engine-block for good measure. ‘About Obsidian. Back when I was spying on him, I caught him conversing with someone. I wasn’t sure at first, but now I’m certain. It was Charger. He was the one Obsidian was with.’

                Starscream’s gaze darkened. ‘Go on.’

\-----

‘Where’s your boss?’

                Mindwipe sat at the back of the bar, pouring himself a shot-glass of unrefined Energon. He took the shot, and dropped the glass carelessly onto the floor.

                When he didn’t answer, Optimus activated his axe, and swung it in Mindwipe’s direction. The orange glow was felt between the two in such a tight space. ‘I _will_ get the information I want,’ Optimus told him. ‘Don’t think I won’t. Now answer me. Where. Is. Your. Boss?’

                ‘Scorponok is either dead or missing. Triggerhappy already told you as much.’

                Optimus raised his blade, leveling it to Mindwipe’s throat. ‘That is _not_ what I asked. I don’t give a frag about Scorponok. What I want to know is where you got that cloak.’

                ‘Ah,’ Mindwipe stared down at the cloak and smiled. ‘You’re looking for _him.’_ He sighed. ‘I knew, of course. I already saw all your goals in your fortune.’

                ‘Whatever. Tell me where he is, or I take a finger.’

                ‘Very well… very well… Though you won’t be happy.’ He cleared his throat before clasping his hands on his lap. ‘My employer and I worked at Kimia before our eventual leave. We parted ways. That’s the last I’ve seen of him. I swear.’ He raised a dramatic hand above his head. ‘Alas, I am as in the dark as you are! He granted me his cloak, of course, but that is all I have to remember him by.’

                Optimus stared at him. He lowered the axe.

                ‘Thank you,’ Mindwipe said, body relaxing.

                ‘Tell me, Mindwipe. If you know my future, then do you know _why_ I’m searching for him?’

                He grinned. ‘Why of course! I must say it’s not the most original idea in existence, but—‘

                Dropping his axe, Optimus grabbed the former Decepticon by the shoulders. ‘Help me. You can help me, right? You’re not him, but you can do what he does, can’t you?! Please tell me you can help me! Do it! Please!’

                Mindwipe reeled back, startled, but after a moment, began to frown. ‘I can’t help you. Not in the way you’re suggesting. I’m afraid my skills, ironically, do not reflect my namesa—‘

                ‘I get it.’ Optimus released him, moving away to pick up his axe. ‘I understand. I’m sorry for the trouble.’ As he tucked away his axe, he felt Mindwipe’s hand grab him by the shoulder. For a split second, he thought he felt a prick on his neck.

                ‘Actually,’ Mindwipe said. ‘There is something I need you to do for me.’

                Optimus turned his head. ‘And that is?’

                Mindwipe pulled himself away and gestured to the back of the bar. ‘Outside I have a… package. For the one you seek.’

                Optimus raised a brow. ‘Is that so?’

                He nodded. ‘It’s inside a trailer of sorts. If you can take it with you, I would be eternally grateful.’

                Optimus nodded. ‘Yeah. Sure, I can do that.’

                Mindwipe beamed. ‘Excellent! I assure you it is completely safe—however.’ And his expression turned dark. ‘You must not look inside, under any circumstances.’

                Optimus shrugged, ‘Kay.’

\-----

Hooked up to the trailer, Optimus barked at the others from outside the bar. ‘Ironhide, Jazz, let’s go! Blackarachnia’s going to hate us.’

                Ironhide had finished placing the cred-chips in Triggerhappy’s palm as Optimus rolled off. ‘There, two-hundred creds,’ he grumbled, having lost his bet to the ex-Decepticon in darts.

                Triggerhappy chuckled as he counted the credits. He removed an imaginary hat from his head and pretended to bow. ‘Heheh, please come again!’

                With Optimus already ahead, Ironhide transformed into his armored truck mode and rolled on after him.

                Jazz grinned, calling out to them. ‘Hey guys, wait up for me!’ Before he could transform, however, Mindwipe had grabbed him by the shoulder. His face was grim.

                ‘Listen to me Jazz—‘

                ‘Oh, uh, it’s cool MW, I don’t need any more fortunes read—‘

                ‘It’s not that! You are in no rush, but Optimus is. I lied about Prime’s fortune.’

                ‘I uh, kind of realized that.’

                ‘No! That’s not what I meant! I read all of your futures. I know precisely when and how you will die. You, Ironhide—even Blackarachnia.’

                Startled, Jazz payed close attention to the mystic. ‘How did you know about Blackarachnia?’

                ‘I’m sorry. You will all die. That I can’t help you with, and that will never change. I lied to Optimus Prime, however. I told you I saw him living a long and happy life, but the reality is I saw him dying a horrifying death three hours from now.’

                Jazz gaped at the mystic. He brought a servo to the side of his helm and tried to make sense of it. ‘Three hours?!’

                ‘It will be one of the hardest things for you to do, Jazz, but I need you to change his fate. It’s muddled. And I admit this may not be the best advice you’ll hear, but I need you to avoid the one who never touches the ground. Do that, and you shall be safe. I’m counting on you.’

                Jazz looked over his shoulder to see Optimus and Ironhide still driving in the distance. ‘Why me?’

                ‘Because I lied about your fortune too, Jazz. You have a dark future ahead of you. It doesn’t necessarily mean bad fortune, but it will be dark all the same.’ He paused. ‘I think you know why. But because of the actions you take, and the actions you _will_ take, I trust you to take the most logical course of action.’

                He whirled his head back to Mindwipe. ‘I should tell them.’

                ‘Don’t. I have encountered this in the past, and I guarantee telling him the truth is the last thing he needs. Panic will bring nothing. Just guide him so that he doesn’t encounter the one who never touched the ground. Understand?

                Jazz nodded firmly. ‘I understand.’

                ‘Now go. I have a backup plan should all else fail, but the chances of that succeeding are even lower. For now, focus on your duty, and keep Optimus alive.’

                Without so much as a goodbye, Jazz transformed into his Cybertronian speedster mode and raced after Optimus and Ironhide.

                There Mindwipe stood, frowning at the trio as they made their way away from the establishment. He looked up at the sky. The universe could not afford to lose Optimus just yet.


	57. The Crawl

Starscream gazed wistfully out the Nemesis’ front windshield as the beings of Moses 7 did his bidding below. Small, shadowy mechanicals held large tubes in place as Energon substitutes guzzled into the Nemesis’ massive tank. Large black cranes reattached class 10 missiles as fusion cannons clicked into place on its bow. Just as Obsidian had claimed, their weaponry was suitable for what they intended to do. He watched as the planet’s equivalent of a railgun was hauled across the front of the ship to be attached as a precautionary measure. Starscream grinned. _Oh, it will be suitable indeed._ The planet could not be conquered, not without a sizeable force to leave behind, but it could have easily been threatened into submission. There was no infiltration force, and no Autobots protecting it. Their military leaders surrendered within an hour, having witnessed the destructive capabilities of the Decepticons’ queen warship. Gutcruncher had long since taken off in his replacement ship; vowing to await further orders on the moon. The rest of Starscream’s circle were on the ground, forcing the (temporarily) enslaved mechs to resuscitate the decrepit Nemesis. Still, the Nemesis, and the Decepticons collectively for that matter, outclassed their entire military in almost every conceivable fashion. Outside, a Mosian tripped, spilling a quart of substitute from his fueling tube. Strika proceeded to quickly executed him for his incompetence with a shot through the brain. One of the more rebellious members of the Mosian race threw a rock in Strika’s direction as revenge for her kill, and was quickly obliterated by a blast from her shoulder cannons for his troubles. As there were no more objections, Strika casually returned to her daydreaming and the Mosians returned to work. _Ruthlessness._ Starscream was proud of himself. Megatron would have surely appreciated him now

                His radio fizzled. ‘Starscream. Gutcruncher here. Just checking in to let you know we’re in position. You guys still down there?’

                Starscream frowned. ‘Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking: “Time is money”. Unfortunately the physical impairments of this populace is kind of getting in the way of progress. Any update from the Decepticon Underworld on Prime’s location?’

                ‘You know ninety-percent of what the Underworld knows about Prime is a load of schlock, right? Still, I did receive some scraps from one of my main sources. According to Cryotek, Prime’s recently visited a planet in the Vice Quadrant named Vaudeville. Don’t get your hopes up, though, because chances are he’s already warped half a galaxy away from there.’

                Starscream brought a finger to his lips. ‘I see. Hrn. That’s bad.’

                ‘Is it? Well, I guess it is. We have no way of knowing where he’s going. Perhaps we could still snoop around the area for some information—‘

                The seeker snarled. ‘If I wanted information I’d go to _you._ If you can’t supply that, well—,’ he reached up and pinched the side of his forehead, ‘—never mind that. Look, if Optimus has recently warped, then we might not find a greater opportunity than this. We need to take Optimus down before he gets too far, _immediately.’_

                Gutcruncher seemed to stop breathing from the other end of the line. ‘Do you know where he is?’

                ‘No, but I’m about to. I have a plan. You know your job, Gutcruncher. Do it.’

                ‘Understood. All hail Starsc—‘

                He shut off the call and reconnected with Obsidian. ‘Get on the ship.’

                Obsidian let out a light, seemingly worried, gasp, as if he had been caught in the middle of an illegal act. ‘What?’

                ‘The ship. Get back to it. Bring, Strika, Slipstream, and anyone else I might be forgetting—‘

                ‘Thundercracker.’

                ‘Yes, him too. We’re leaving.’

                ‘But Commander, the captives have yet to complete the Nemesis’ repairs.’

                ‘I don’t give a damn about the captives. Optimus is about to escape my grasp, and I will not allow you to hold me back from it again.’

                Silence on the other end. ‘Commander, am I right in assuming that your confidence stems from this master plan you and Lord Regent Soundwave have been concocting behind our backs?’

                ‘Shut up. Get on the ship. Or stay behind. We’re gone in five minutes.’

                More silence. ‘Understood, Commander Starscream.’ The line went dead.

                Starscream was worried about him. Not that he was afraid of Obsidian killing murdering him in his sleep or selling him out, no, that he was certain he could handle. However from what Thundercracker had explained to him, two things were abundantly clear. First of which, was that Obsidian was in collusion with a number of other Decepticons. Charger one of them, who else Starscream could not discern. Strika, probably. Obsidian could have had an army behind him, which would put Starscream at a clear disadvantage. Secondly, Obsidian was not the one in complete control. He was working for someone. Someone he believed to be more deserving of the title Lord High Protector than him. _Who?_ He had his list of suspects, though none of them made sense. Shockwave and Scorponok had been missing for decades, and though they had always been presumed dead, Starscream knew his old rivals well enough that there was a high possibility that they were still out there. They’d be the kind to concoct such a plan against him, off course, that assumed they were still alive. There was always Straxus, the mad king. Though he knew Obsidian would never follow him unless he aimed to remove his crown the moment it touched his scalp. But Obsidian was a follower. Obsidian wanted the best possible leader for the Decepticons to rise. Straxus was out, Shockwave and Scorponok were possibilities, though even if they were still alive, Shockwave was nothing more than a humble servant, and Scorponok was a boastful brute. Neither the type of leader Obsidian would follow. Soundwave was out of the picture, as if he wanted complete control, he could have easily just lied about the contents of Megatron’s will. Who else was there? Who else might Obsidian have desired to become absolute leader of the Decepticons? Overlord and Roadblock were maniacs with no true desire for power. Skystalker was as treacherous as him, yet not nearly as intelligent or effective. Ratbat and Colossus were smart enough to know that not everyone would follow them willingly. Who? Who was out there?

                Starscream realized he would have to put these thoughts on hold, as all that mattered at that particular moment was that Optimus would soon fall into his grasp. He needed to make another call. He brought his thumb up to the side of his helmet. ‘Soundwave? You know who it is. It’s time. Patch me through.’

\-----

                Optimus felt the hum of the Ark’s warp-engine beneath his feet. They were off, location unknown. It was a good feeling, but a terrifying one nonetheless. Like plunging deep into the unknown. He stared at the ceiling to find Megatron’s head following him. It grinned at him, then phased through the panelling and out of sight. Optimus realized he either needed more sleep or still hadn’t escaped the deep end of his consciousness. He wanted to be sane again. He, Ironhide, and Jazz arrived onto the bridge. There, Blackarachnia was waiting in the captain’s chair.

                ‘You guys got drinks, didn’t you?’

                ‘No, we didn’t.’ Optimus replied.

                ‘Liars. I’ve been here keeping this entire ship warm while you guys were goofing off doing God knows what!’

                ‘You’re one to talk,’ Rosanna said, popping out of the main computer as a mere cassette. She transformed, and landed on her feet. ‘You spent, like, the entire time in you room. Didn’t even want to chat with me.’

                Blackarachnia shot her a look. In response, Rosanna stared at her.

                ‘What are you doing?’

                ‘Oh, I was imitating the look you were giving me. All mocking like.’

                ‘That’d probably be more effective if you had a face.’

                ‘Oh, I guess.’

                Optimus raised his palms. ‘Look, we seriously didn’t have that great a time. We got held up by this fortune teller. He’s making us deliver his mail, too.’

                Blackarachnia turned to him. ‘Those still exist?’

                Ironhide nodded. ‘Ironically the guy that makes a living lying to people was a former Decepticon.’

                Blackarachnia raised a brow at that, and stood up. ‘Decepticon, eh? Anyone I would know?’

                ‘How the hell is anyone here supposed to answer that?’ Ironhide said, leaning against the wall nearest to him.

                ‘You can’t really blame him,’ Optimus said, moving towards the command chair. ‘A living’s a living. Even if it _is_ through lies.’

                Jazz took Prime’s side, looking up at the red and blue Autobot. Blackarachnia was quick to notice he had been hugging himself ever since he entered the bridge. ‘I dunno Prime. In a universe as vast and as crazy as ours, I wouldn’t write out the possibility of him telling the truth.’

                ‘Believe what you want to believe, Jazz.’ Optimus said, taking a seat. ‘But if anyone could see the future we wouldn’t have to worry about, well, about anything.’ He tapped some commands into the main console. ‘So where are we, anyway?’

                Ironhide gazed out the window. The Ark was hovering near a bright orange planet in their periphery. The rest of the view was an endless blanket of stars and space. ‘Somewhere orange.’

                ‘No kidding,’ Blackarachnia reached over Optimus to activate the data-archive. She then pointed towards the front-view window. ‘That planet there is referred to by the natives of a nearby solar system as Viafinis. Untouched by any alien life, and for good reason. It’s got a huge electro-magnetic cloud surrounding its atmosphere so we should probably not get too close.’

                ‘What happens if we get too close?’

                ‘We blow up.’

                Ironhide laughed.

                ‘That’s not a joke. The clouds will shut off the Ark’s system and we’ll plummet to our deaths. Since I’d rather not, I’d advise we length a solar system or two before we make our next pit stop.’

                ‘Oh.’

                ‘Will it interfere with our communications equipment?’ Optimus asked.

                Blackarachnia folded her arms. ‘Don’t think so. Why, who are you trying to call?’

                ‘Chromia. We need to get Rosanna back remember? Technically our mission is only half done so it would probably be a good idea to tell Chromia we have her.’

                Blackarachnia blinked innocently. ‘Rosanna? Who’s Ros—Oh!’ She laughed, and clapped her claws together. ‘Now I remember! That runt!’ She grinned down at the small idol. ‘So short I totally forgot you were still here!’

                Rosanna fumed, then turned away. ‘I don’t even need to acknowledge you.’

                Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘Speaking of which, why _do_ I always find you hiding in those computer slots?’

                The idol hugged herself. ‘I… like to be inside of things. It’s a thing I do. Don’t judge me.’

                As Optimus patched a call through to Chromia, Ironhide moved over to Jazz. When he placed a hand on the Spec Ops expert’s shoulder, he flinched.

                ‘You feeling alright? You’re looking a little… out of character.’

                Jazz flashed a grin at him. ‘It’s all good, Ironhide. Just getting used to all… _this,_ I guess.’

                Ironhide frowned at that. He didn’t seem to believe him. ‘Well, whatever it is, get over it. We may be safe now, but there’s still danger all around us. We’ve still a long way to go before we return to Chromia, and once we’re there we only _might_ be allowed to bunker down for a few months.’

                Jazz felt himself relax. ‘That sounds like something that appeals to _you_ , Ironhide.’

                Ironhide blinked, thought for a few seconds, and then scratched his cheek. ‘Well, yeah, I suppose it does. Chromia’s got a good set of folks following her. They may not be much now but…’ A phantom of a grin projected itself upon his faceplate. ‘After I’m done with them they’ll be kicking the afts of anything that comes their way. You can bet on it!’

                Jazz chuckled at that. ‘I’m sure you would.’ He stared at his feet. ‘Listen, Ironhide. I need to tell you something. Something Mindwipe said. he said—‘

                ‘What do you mean she’s not one of yours?’

                Ironhide, Jazz, and Blackarachnia went silent. Despite her attempts to maintain a conversation, Rosanna soon fell quieted as well.

                Chromia’s voice vented through the speakers. _‘I told you her codename was Rosanna, not that she was the ACTUAL IDOL Rosanna! We didn’t tell you her actual name in case someone out there learned she was the one with your serial code, remember?!’_

                Optimus slammed his palm against the arm of his chair. ‘We found her! She’s Rosanna! She had my serial code! She is the person you sent us to get! She was the person Bludgeon wanted!’

                _‘The person I sent you to get worked undercover at a desk on Talon IV. I don’t know whether the actual Rosanna was there or not as well, but—_

‘There was no-one else! Even if you’re serious and we got the wrong person, all the other prisoners were dead, so if you’re telling me there just so happened to be _another_ Rosanna, then—‘

                ‘ _You know what, I don’t care. This joke isn’t funny, Optimus. Just bring Windblade home so we can get this matter over with. And please be sure to quit being so… difficult, when you get here.’_

                ‘Who the hell is— _I’m_ being difficult? You’re the one being difficult, you--!’

                The line went dead.

                Optimus whipped the communicator across the room, sending it clacking into the wall. ‘Dammit! What the hell was that?!’ He turned to Rosanna for answers.

                She shrugged. ‘Eh, honestly, Chromia’s weird when she is angry.’

                ‘Define weird.’

                Rosanna laughed. ‘Oh yeah, you have no idea. She likes to pull these weird pranks where she keeps trying to convince people they’re wrong about something. One time she tried to convince me that eggs don’t actually exist. She honestly had me going for a bit. The troops were in on it and everything—all because I spilled some paint.’ She stared at Optimus. ‘You didn’t piss her off recently, did you?’

                Optimus felt himself go limp. Memories of his quarrel with Chromia flashed before his eyes. He had been so focused on getting Rosanna home that he hadn’t really thought about it. ‘Oh.’ He stared down at her. ‘Sorry. I guess I _did_ piss her off. It’s a prank, huh? I guess that is a little weird—‘

                A beam of light hit Rosanna’s mid-section, breaking open her chest cavity and sending her crashing down from the command-pedestal and into a display case of files. Her body convulsed with flames and electricity as she attempted to stand. Her chest hung open, and her colours appeared to fade.

                Steam wafted from Ironhide’s glowing cannon as he released his aim. He blew the tip before advancing on the wounded mini-bot. One more shot would kill her.

                Horrified, Optimus whipped out his axe and slammed the blade against Ironhide’s shoulder, creating a large cut through his armour.

                ‘Ah!’

                Blackarachnia and Jazz made way as Optimus pushed him against the wall. Pinning him in place. ‘What the hell did you do?! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you off this ship this instant!’

                ‘Optimus!’ Ironhide raised his servos, and allowed himself to calm. ‘Optimus… Rosanna’s been lying to us. I know Chromia. Chromia doesn’t… mess around. She doesn’t prank. Rosanna is trying to cover her hide. Why? I don’t know, but the only thing I could think of is—‘

                ‘Boss-bot!’

                A beam, twice as powerful as Ironhide’s shot towards them. Swiftly, Blackarachnia leaped in the way of the blast, absorbing the hit with her torso. An explosion. Blackarachnia fell onto her knees. A massive gap or sparks and exoskeleton existing where her back used to be.

                Optimus released Ironhide form the wall and gaped at his fallen crew-member. ‘BLACKARACHNIA!’

                He heard a click, and looked up. Jazz was on his knees, his hands raised above his head in surrender. Next to him stood Rosanna. Her colours dimmed. Half a dozen cylindrical cannons larger than her torso had sprouted from her back. At least one of each had been pointed at the heads of Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz.

                ‘Now, let me make myself clear,’ Rosanna began. ‘If any of you moves, or tries to fight back, I will send this ship hurdling into the planet below us.’

                ‘You can’t—,’ Blackarachnia wheezed.

                ‘Of course I can. I’ve been inside your computers—fusing my processor to the Ark’s main cortical complex. We are essentially the same being at this point.’

                ‘This doesn’t make any sense!’ Optimus muttered. ‘We rescued you! You were captured by Bludgeon—why all of this?!’

                ‘I know this is very confusing right now, but I’ll try and explain to the best of my ability. My name is Flipsides. I am an agent of Soundwave. I was developed the same way Punch Counterpunch was made. Two minds, one body. One dominant, one submissive. Rosanna is an idol that travels the galaxy playing concerts at a series of organic worlds rich with resources. I am the Decepticon that gathers information through her eyes and transmits it to the nearest Decepticon battle squadron.’ She rolled her servos as if she were bored by the whole ordeal. ‘Yadda-yadda, they drop by and nuke the place.’

                _They know about Punch._ Optimus realized. Suddenly he began to fear for Autobot High Command. They had always assumed their agent had yet to be compromised. This was bad news.

                ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Optimus said, carefully. ‘Why are you doing this?’

                She tilted her head to the side. ‘Soundwave’s orders. Duh. He’s in control of everything. You see, Soundwave needed Bludgeon out of the picture. Bludgeon was going to _end_ the war, rather than win it. I received your serial code from Chromia’s contact—she’s probably hiding in some hole on Talon right now—however, things went awry when I was captured by Bludgeon. When they found out what I had, Bludgeon had fallen into a positon of power. He became very close to winning the Spacefarers’ war, and Soundwave could not have that. So rather than reveal myself to Bludgeon, and in doing so, reveal that Soundwave was actually _trying_ to make him lose, I maintained my cover and waited for Soundwave to send reinforcements. He was right in assuming you would show up to rescue me, both for your sake, and the sake of your Autobot “code”, but to be safe I used the guise of Chromia’s contact to send an encrypted message to the Autobots. Really, it was all a ploy by Soundwave to get me out of Bludgeon’s hands. Even if you hadn’t arrived to rescue me, the results would have been the same I fallen into Starscream possession. The point is, everything you did was decided by Soundwave before you even acted upon it. You’re really nothing more than Soundwave’s tool at this point, and Starscream?’ Her visor flashed. ‘Starscream has remote access to me regardless. I still have the Ark’s serial code, you know, and since you warped just a few moments ago—and this ship isn’t going anywhere under my control, I’m afraid your position is now compromised.’

                Ironhide was practically in pain trying to keep his rage in check. ‘You… traitor!’

                ‘Oh, I’m not a traitor. I’m more of an experiment. Something in the making.’ She giggled. ‘My name is _Flipsides,_ honey. I flip-sides.’ She snorted another giggle.

                Optimus scowled. ‘While you’re explaining your master plan, would you mind telling me why Starscream and Soundwave are teaming up on this venture? I thought those two hated each other.’

                ‘Oh they do, believe me. However, despite being labeled the master manipulator, Starscream is practically the easiest Decepticon for Soundwave to manipulate. Once he wins, Soundwave will have the perfect puppet to play king while he rules from the shadows. Some might say he had the same relationship with Megatron. Whatever. We’re all his tools anyway. Only unlike you, I’m the kind of tool that’s about to get a major promotion after all is said and done.’

                A crack of purple lightning stained the stainless glass of the front-view windshield, and the Nemesis warped into view, dwarfing the Ark with its size alone. Optimus felt his spark drop into his gut. Though he had seen it a number of times already, the Nemesis had no trouble intimidating him out of his wits. Strange how this terrified him yet the image of Megatron invading his thoughts barely moved him. It was odd, but he could have sworn he could feel his hallucinations as well as see them. Though they plagued him daily, he could feel Megatron grinning over his shoulder. Looming over him like he did so long ago.

                ‘Now, any other questions before Starscream rips open your ship and kills every last one of y—,’ Flipsides flinched, stumbled, and nearly fell. ‘What the crap?!’

                ‘What?’ Optimus looked around but saw nothing of note.

                Flipsides raised a digit towards Optimus. ‘Behind you—did I just—for a second there. I could have sworn I saw—‘

                Taking advantage of the distraction, Jazz did a sweeping kick, knocking Flipsides onto her backside. One of her cannons went off, blasting apart the Ark’s control panel. Sirens wailed from the Ark’s overhead as the ship fell into emergency status.

                Optimus darted to the control panel, and began pressing a series of keys and buttons. Ironhide in turn raised his cannon to Flipsides’ head, keeping her in check before she could get back up.

                Jazz rushed to Optimus. ‘What are you doing?’

                ‘Everything. Flipsides destroyed most of the command inputs, but I think I can still—’

                With the flick of a switch, the Ark exploded forward, engines seething with energy as it roared towards the Nemesis. The force of the blast sent all five of its passengers flying across the room, leaving them all dazed and confused. The massive dreadnaught opened fire, grazing the rims of the Ark as it blazed through the space between the Nemesis’s belly and the planet Viafinis. A missile caught up to the Ark, blowing apart a booster rocket and sending it spiralling down towards the planet below.

                On his stomach and in a daze, Optimus slammed his fist against the floor and shouted. ‘Stasis-pods. Everyone. NOW!’

                Though his vision and hearing were muddled and unreliable, Optimus could still make out the cackling figure of Flipsides, rising from the ground. ‘You think you can escape this? I’m sorry Optimus, but you—‘

                The Ark’s systems went dark as it entered the electromagnetic cloud surrounding Viafinis. A loud explosion reverberated from the Ark’s main generator, then silence. Optimus crawled through the whirling darkness. He could only assume the others followed his orders and went for the pods. He wasn’t sure if he was still on the bridge, or if he were even still aboard the Ark as everything felt alien. Like he was far away from home. _But this IS my home,_ he thought _._ He crawled, and crawled, and crawled. The Ark was plummeting and about to hit the planet’s surface at any moment, and he crawled. He crawled, because if he stopped crawling he could die. He crawled until his hand touched a large cylindrical object. A stasis pod. He stood, wobbling. He activated the command code and the pod came to life. The bright blue glow stung his optics, but at least he could finally see. It opened.

                Megatron had been waiting for him inside. He smiled at the Prime, then spread his arms wide. ‘—CAN NEVER ESCAPE.’

                Megatron wrapped his arms around Optimus and hoisted him up. The warlord fell back into the pod with Optimus on top of him, and the doors closed around them. Darkness returning to them. Darkness surrounding them.

                The Ark crashed into the deserts of Viafinis, bringing the first alien sound to the would-be untouched world.

                 


	58. Autobots vs Decepticons

The bridge was quiet. Starscream’s hands curled around the railing as he witnessed his failure through the front-view-monitor. Snatched by the planet’s atmosphere, the Ark spiralled down and disappeared into the vortex of electrical currents and irrepressible mania surrounding the violent orange orb below. There was no way of knowing Optimus was dead like this. There was no way of affirming his right to rule. He squeezed the bridge’s railing until the metal creaked and dented between his palms. Ripping his hands from the ship, Starscream spun around to Thundercracker. ‘Fire up the warp engines! We’re going in after them.’

                Obsidian halted Thundercracker with a wave of his tendrils. ‘Belay that order,’ he turned to Starscream, examining him top from bottom.

                Starscream snarled, barely sparing a glance in his direction. ‘Do you have any better ideas?’

                ‘The Nemesis will not survive the planet’s weather. Because we were unable to complete ship repairs, entering the storms now would be considered suicide. Even if the Ark _did_ pass through the planet’s storms unscathed, there is a _very_ low chance that we will not be quite as lucky.

                Starscream moved closer to Obsidian, glaring daggers into his elongated skull. ‘Then what, my dearest General, might you suggest?’

                Obsidian turned to the Thundercracker, who simply exchanged looks with Strika in uncertainty. The seeker couldn’t begin to guess how he was at all relevant. Obsidian set his gaze back on Starscream. ‘According to Thundercracker’s reports, we should be able to use Skywarp’s teleportation prowess— combined with the Nemesis’ higgs engine— to link a ground bridge from here to the planet below. It would drain most of our fuel supplies, but I digress that it is our safest bet—‘

                ‘I won’t allow it.’ Thundercracker said, stepping forward. ‘I won’t! The energy consumption won’t only drain the Nemesis’ reserves, it will drain Skywarp’s as well. It could kill him!’

                Watching him, Starscream careful pushed Obsidian aside and made a beeline for the blue seeker. ‘And so what?’

                Thundercracker stared at him.

                ‘So what if you don’t like it? I’m the commanding officer here. I make the decisions. What are you, Thundercracker? What are you willing to risk for the sake of a personal matter?’ He sneered. ‘This is war. If you don’t like it, then for all I care you can put a gun in your mouth and pull the trigger. I don’t need soldiers who won’t follow my orders. Now tell me, what are you going to do?’

                Thundercracker stared at him for another second, then lowered his gaze. ‘I will… follow your command.’

                He smirked. ‘Fantastic. Now boot up Skywarp and set the ground-bridge co-ordinates to the planet below. The five of us will warp down there and eliminate Optimus in person.’ He turned to Strika and Obsidian. ‘And you know what? Part of me was actually _hoping_ it would end this way.’ He spread his arms wide and bellowed to his crewmates. ‘Now, who’s ready for a slaughter?’

                Strika took a step forward, reeled her arms back, and struck her fist into the palm of her hand. A loud ‘clang’ echoed across the bridge. ‘You’re preaching to the converted, Starscream.’

                Slipstream similarly began chuckling at the prospect while Obsidian hovered back into the shadows.

                Starscream couldn’t care less. He was finally going to win.

\-----

Optimus awoke in his stasis-pod prematurely. Though he had been ejected from the Ark, his fears regarding the planet’s hostility had been put to rest. It appeared the planet’s weather did not affect the lower altitudes on the planet’s surface, or at least not in the current season, and he was free to walk along its surface unharmed. His stasis-pod’s door had been busted wide open from the crash, and he could see the sky from where he was laying. It was a bright red. Groaning, the Prime raised himself out of the pod and rolled out onto the sandy ground below. The planet’s surface was mostly made up of canyons and desert. Large fissures stretched across the rock, seeming to go down for miles. On his feet, Optimus surveyed the wide open area to find movement in the distance.

                He followed the spastic figure until he was within a kilometer from it. From there he could see it was Flipsides, attempting to wrench open the door to another pod. From that, Optimus continued his pace until he found himself standing directly behind the small Decepticon.

                Failing to open the pod-door, Flipsides froze, slowly looking up to see the large Autobot standing behind her. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She went back to her work. Tiny fingers wriggling into the cracks between the door and the pod, scraping eagerly to get it open. Optimus activated his axe.

                Carelessly, the small Decepticon turned around once more. ‘Look, my weaponry was busted in the crash. I’m no threat. All I want is to get inside this pod so that I can reconnect my mental link with the Ark. Leave me alone.’

                Optimus lunged forward, slamming the hilt of his axe against the pod’s door. Flipsides covered her face as steam exerted from the coffin-like machinery, removing her fingers only in time to see the pod open. Blackarachnia sat up from the pod, eyes blinking warily before turning her head to see Optimus.

                She barely spared him a passing glance.

                Optimus glared. ‘Still not forgiving me, eh?’

                She shrugged, then saw Flipsides. A stalk burst from her back and rested its bladed edge inches from Flipsides’ throat. Flipsides raised her hands above her head in surrender. ‘Whoa-kay, calm down now. I just explained it all to Optimus—there’s literally no reason to kill me!’

                The ex-Decepticon glanced up at Optimus. ‘What should we do with her?’

                ‘Put her in the pod.’

                ‘Yeah,’ Flipsides nodded. ‘Good idea. I can deal with that. Go for it.’

                In moments, Flipsides had taken Blackarachnia’s place inside the stasis pod, locked in forced sleep.

                ‘How’d _she_ survive?’ Blackarachnia wondered.

                Optimus folded his axe back inside his body. ‘Could be her size. Could be an inherited ability of flight. Doesn’t matter now. The Ark is powerless—and so is she.’

                Blackarachnia observed the rolling canyons in the distance. The red sky, on closer observation, appeared to move not unlike sped up footage of clouds. The sky rolled onward and crackled on occasion. The sun had somehow managed to shine through the dangerous weather and illuminated the desert with an evening redness. ‘You know where Ironhide and Jazz might be?’

                ‘Nope.’ Optimus transformed into his truck mode. ‘Get on.’

                Reluctantly, Blackarachnia sat on the edge of her leader’s vehicle mode, banging on his roof to move.

                Optimus drove for miles. During that drive neither he, nor Blackarachnia, said a word. Feuds didn’t just go away, he realized. It was as if as soon as it appeared that Blackarachnia had forgiven him, she hadn’t.

                They stopped once in their journey, and that was when they found the Ark. It had crashed into the side of a large canyon, intact, but clearly dead. A large fissure separated them from the ship, however, and they could only gawk at the sight of their home in ruins.

                ‘There it is,’ Blackarachnia said.

                ‘It’s not in pieces, at least.’

                ‘It’s not going to fly us out of here this time, either.’

                ‘Maybe not.’

                They continued their journey, at one point finding a popped stasis pod, as well as a trail in the sand leading to, what they’d later realize, was Jazz’s location. When they found him, he had been standing at the foot of a rockslide. Ironhide’s pod had been buried.

                Cheerfully, Jazz waved them over to help him move the boulders.

                ‘We got your message,’ Optimus told him, transforming into his robot mode. ‘Ironhide’s in there? Is he okay?’

                ‘He was in his stasis pod when he went under so I’m willing to bet he’s just fine. What about you? You see the Ark?’

                Optimus nodded solemnly.

                Jazz placed his hands on his hips and whistled. ‘Yeah, can’t say it’s going to be easy to pull something that big out of all that rubble…’ he grinned. ‘But, hey, if we can get ol’ hide out of _this_ rubble then an Ark-class spaceship should be a breeze!’

                Optimus smiled at that, and the three of them got to work. In a matter of time, Ironhide was free of his pod and shaking his head groggily. He looked up at his teammates and raised a brow. ‘Everyone survived?’

                Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘You almost sound pleased to see us.’

                He got to his feet, and began dusting himself off. ‘Bah. Why would I be? To think I was almost rid of you…’ He grumbled on.

                Optimus grinned. ‘It’s good to be whole again. Come on, we should get back to the Ark. The sooner we get it out of the dirt the sooner we can figure out how to get off this planet.’

                Jazz nodded, looking up at the rolling red sky. ‘Agreed. ‘Sides, who knows what the weather will be like after… dark. Oh no.’

                Optimus traced his vision. ‘What is it?’

                He pointed at the sky. Silhouetted by a red backdrop was a star-shaped shadow moving closer to their position.

\-----

                Thundercracker activated his comm-channel. ‘Starscream, I’ve found them. Home in on my position.’

                Starscream was already within a kilometer of the blue seeker. ‘Excellent. Don’t you dare start anything without me, are we clear? That goes for everyone. Rendezvous on Thundercracker’s position before beginning our assault. Is that okay with you, Obsidian?’

                Obsidian’s voice crackled over the line. ‘It suits me just fine, Commander.’

                ‘Nice to have our proclaimed genius on my side for a change. Thundercracker, do not let them escape.’

\-----

                Jazz had already contorted into his vehicular mode. ‘Come on, it’s time to split!’

                Optimus and Ironhide had already transformed, with Blackarachnia landing on top of the latter’s roof.

                ‘Who is that?’ Optimus snapped. ‘Starscream? How could he have passed through the storm?’

                ‘Thundercracker,’ Jazz replied. ‘You can tell from the shape of his design. It’s too plain to be Starscream’s. And we managed the storm just fine, it shouldn’t be any surprise that they could do the same.’

\-----

                High above, Thundercracker accessed Starscream’s channel. ‘They’re easy picking from up here. Are you sure you don’t want me to drop a few missiles? It might scare them into a surrender?’

                ‘No need. Besides, I am already within killing distance.

\-----

                ‘Incoming!’ Ironhide shouted as a large figure swooped down from above.

                Starscream’s massive body let off a small tremor as he landed in front of them, causing the three vehicles to swerve. Blackarachnia was flung from Ironhide’s roof as he rolled onto his side, while Optimus and Jazz managed to transform mid-air and land on their feet.

                ‘Strika!’ Starscream roared.

                From the west, a series of missiles fired from the incoming tank. The missiles tore apart the ground surrounding the four Autobots and sent Jazz and Optimus flying towards Ironhide. From the South, Obsidian and Slipstream dove at them in their vehicle modes, firing barrages of missiles at the team and cornering them against the cliff-face of a large fissure. From the east, Thundercracker dropped from the sky, landing similarly to Starscream and reeling back his arm.

                ‘This is for Skywarp!’ He shouted, swinging his fist across Ironhide’s face and shattering a chunk of his faceplate; knocking him back into Optimus’ arms.

                ‘It’s okay,’ Optimus said, helping Ironhide to his feet. ‘I’ve got you, buddy.’

                Though it was little consolation, as in a matter of seconds, Starscream’s brigade had herded Team Prime into a small space before regrouping on a higher ground. The Autobots were trapped between five Decepticons and a massive crevice. The ground within was nowhere in sight

                Starscream basked in his triumph as Strika, Obsidian, Slipstream, and Thundercracker circled around him. It was clear from his posture that Starscream had planned an entire speech surrounding his victory. From praising his strategists to belittling Optimus. His grin already told it all. He and Optimus eyed each other. Pure enjoyment from one, and pure hatred from the other. Soon, Starscream’s grin faded, until it was devoid of sadism or enjoyment. His gaze went sullen, and a professional air snuffed the braggart struggling to escape. He glared down at the smaller Prime before activating his null-ray.

                ‘Are you ready?’

                Optimus’s faceplate shifted into place, as his axe flipped into his grasp. ‘I am.’

                At that, the nine Cybertronians leaped at each other. Metal clashing and roars of adrenaline echoed throughout the desert. Obsidian fired missiles only for it to be blocked by Blackarachnia, stalks slicing the air rapidly. Strika smashed her fist into the ground at Jazz’s feet, missing just in time for the spec-ops expert to leap in the air and land on the tank’s back, activating his nunchaku and wailing away at her skull.

                Optimus’ axe clashed with Starscream’s arm as he unloaded the ammo from his null-ray into the ground below. Frustrated, Starscream bashed his head into Optimus’s chin, causing him to reel back, massaging his faceplate. As Starscream’s head fell back, chunks of Prime’s faceplate remained lodged into his fore-head. He grinned. ‘This is more like it.’

                A missile struck Ironhide in the chest, knocking him backwards and into the dirt. As he pushed himself up, Thundercracker sprinted up and kicked the weapons specialist across the side of his face. ‘I thought he’d be up again within a week,’ Thundercracker spat as he fired another missile into Ironhide’s shoulder, sending him spinning into the dirt, nearing the fissure. ‘But because of you his corpse could be rotting in our ship right now. The worst part?’ The larger seeker pulled Ironhide up to his feet before punching him across the face. ‘I don’t even know if I care anymore!’ He hit Ironhide again, and again. On his third hit, however, the weapons-specialist grabbed his wrist.

                ‘I know you don’t like to hear this excuse, but…’ Wrenching the seeker towards him, Ironhide twisted Thundercracker’s arm and sent him hurdling over his head; crashing into the ground behind him. ‘WE ARE AT WAR!’ Ironhide activated his cannons and prepared to fire.

                Anticipating this, Thundercracker transformed into his jet mode and shot himself out of the blast’s range of fire. Airborne, the seeker circled the sky and dove back down upon him. ‘You see, unlike you, I try to pull my punches. I, at least, try not to relegate myself murdering for the sake of _anyone._ But you?’ Several hatches opened across Thundercracker’s frame, revealing multiple sets of missiles and Gatling turrets ‘I have absolutely _zero_ reservations in making an exception of _you!_ ’

                He opened fire, cluster missiles homing in on Ironhide and crashing into his torso. The explosions sent Ironhide reeling back. Before he even touched the ground, Thundercracker transformed into robot-mode, splaying his legs and landing on the crater in the weapons specialist’s stomach. Thundercracker dove his fist into the side of his shoulder and wrapped his fingers around a clump of wires. Wrenching his arm backwards, he pulled out the inner workings, causing Ironhide to scream. ‘You Autobots don’t know when to back down, do you?’ Furiously, he struck Ironhide in his mid-section ripping and tearing layers of armour and metal before kicking him aside, and resuming his assault. ‘If you think some average, academy-boomer Autobot can stand up against a Seeker—against an apex soldier of the Aerospace Legion, then you have another thing coming.’

                Thundercracker prepared his next attack, only for a huge burst of energy to seer through his mid-section and send him flying a yard away from the weapons specialist. He writhed on the ground, caressing his wound and groaning away the pain. Slowly, Ironhide rose to his feet. Cannons all but depleted. He spat. ‘In that case, you probably shouldn’t have left a guy to charge his cannons to max capacity.’ He cannons spun on his arms before clicking back into place. ‘You seekers sure do have a penchant for bragging, don’t you?’ He approached the aching seeker with his cannons trained on his head. ‘In fact, I’d say the only thing separating you from Starscream is your colour scheme!’

                Across from them, the Aerospace Commander in question proceeded to tuck away his null-ray and replace it with a pair of buzz-saws, whipping them around violently in hopes of getting to cut off an appendage or two of his old foe. The saw clashed with Prime’s axe, and when it did, shavings of orange metal and bright energy sparked and cracked.

                ‘I am glad you decided to put up a fight, but…’ Starscream kicked Optimus’s shin, causing him to stagger. ‘There’s no winning a physical confrontation with me. It’s just not possible. Not for you.’

                With that, Starscream whipped his saw, slicing thin line across Prime’s chest and shattering the glass. Once again he sliced, dragging the spinning blade across his left shoulder and tearing out a column of wires connecting limb to torso. Before Optimus could react, Starscream reached out with his free hand and grabbed hold of his bicep. Activating his thrusters, Starscream jetted backwards and ripped the loose strands out of their sockets, fully removing Prime’s arm from his body. Rejoicing, the seeker began swinging the severed arm above his head like a mace.

                A flash of Megatron pierced Optimus’ brain, and the fear of his assault shook him to the core. Optimus charged, screaming and wailing with his axe.

                Starscream countered. He used Prime’s arm like it were a club, swinging it across his face and dashing shards of faceplate and shrapnel across the sand. He swung against his torso, further shattering his chest-plate before smashing it across his good hand, knocking Prime’s axe out of his grasp. Starscream proceeded to beat Optimus continuously over the head with his own arm, eventually caring nothing more than hammering the Prime into the ground with his own body parts. Optimus transformed, falling backwards into his truck-mode and activating his rear thrusters. The truck drove forward, tackling Starscream’s midsection before transforming again and utilizing the burst from his thrusters to leap over Starscream’s head.

                Landing on the Seeker’s back, Optimus wrapped his arm around his throat, holding him into a headlock. Starscream whipped around, thrusters raising him meters off the ground before landing back down again, barely landing on his feet. The more he squirmed and choked, the harder Optimus squeezed. The seeker lifted himself off the ground once more, spinning in circles before landing again, this time on his knees. Starscream bit down on his arm, causing Optimus to scream. He pulled his head back, tearing wires and connecting tissues out with his teeth.

                ‘You’re a maniac!’ Optimus screamed.

                ‘Who cares what you think?!’ Struggling, Starscream transformed into his jet mode, head tucking away into his chest, and body extrapolating into its sleeker form. ‘I have had enough!’ Starscream activated his thrusters, escaping Prime’s grip and roaring into the sky. Circling above, Starscream nose-dived at the Prime, transforming into his robot form, and again as several hatches of hidden weaponry activated across his frame. Landing before Optimus, Starscream had become a face-less battle-station of null-rays, machine-guns, and missile launchers. In spite of this, Optimus could tell the bastard was grinning. ‘Bang.’

                Missiles, lasers, and bullet-fire erupted from Starscream’s body, slamming into Optimus’s body and scorching his frame from head to toe. He fell backwards, flames engulfing his body. Optics searing, Optimus attempted to pat away the flames, but it did little more than fuel his own futile desperation.

                Starscream wanted to watch as he struggled to save himself, but he knew his weaknesses, and he knew indulging in his own personal sense of sadism would only screw him over like it did countless times before. Body reverting to its natural state, Starscream burst forward and tackled Optimus, knocking him to the ground and towards the edge of the fissure. He struck Prime’s throat, craning him off the ground and parading him high above his head. ‘Say it!’ He growled through gritted teeth. He cracked his fist against Prime’s helm. ‘Say that I won!’ He struck him again, and again, and again.

                Missiles fired from Obsidian’s torso, homing in on the ground around Blackarachnia’s feet. Blackarachnia leaped unblemished from the blasts, stalks carrying her off the ground and towards Obsidian. She landed on his shoulders, causing him to teeter in the air. ‘I’ve always heard stories of you!’ She recalled, stabbing a stalk into his collar. Obsidian let out a grunt of pain as he struggled to remove the beast former from his person. Blackarachnia only snickered. ‘Everyone in the Decepticons knows about the ancient strategist Obsidian! The greatest General of Megatron’s army! You’re something of an antique now, aren’t you old man? A relic, you could say.’

                Obsidian let out another grunt, spinning through the air until Blackarachnia was under him. He jammed his fist into her chest, pinning her to the ground beneath them. ‘I am not Starscream, traitor. I do not lose my temper over trivial matters such as is. Insult me all you like, I’ve heard them all.’ He smashed his fist against Blackarachnia head, sending a crack running through her helm. ‘As an unconventionally born Decepticon yourself, I would imagine you would know.’ Before she could reply, Obsidian hurled her over his shoulder, tossing her into the dirt. ‘Unlike you, however, I don’t attempt to disparage others to make up for the years of discrimination it brought me.’

                Strika’s fist crashed against the ground, sending cracks and ruptures rippling across the sand. Jazz somersaulted through the air, landing adjacent from her before swinging his nunchaku against her leg. It had little effect. Strika groaned. ‘For the love of all that’s good and holy—would you stay still for one damned moment?!’ She swept a karate chop in Jazz’s direction, which he proceeded to dodge as easily as it would have took her to chop him in two. ‘I’m trying to have a good time here and you’re just being all… frustrating!’

                Jazz flipped over her, landing on her back and striking the back of her neck. She didn’t react.

                ‘Nice try,’ she said, reaching up and grabbing him by the leg. ‘But I don’t have “weak points.”’ She tossed him a yard away, knocking him into the periphery of Obsidian and Blackarachnia.

As Jazz watched Obsidian hover in place, Mindwipe’s words echoed and burned throughout his skull. _‘Avoid the one who never touches the ground.’_ It was as if a thousand weights had been dropped on top of him at once. He couldn’t believe the thought never occurred to him. In spite of his almost clairvoyant level of planning and oversight during his days as a spec-ops agent, he hadn’t even begun to suspect the ‘one who never touches the ground’ as being so literal. So obvious. So close. Obsidian hovered above the ground, assaulting Blackarachnia with his balled fists. Blackarachnia was between he and Optimus, but that wasn’t much consolation. He didn’t necessarily have to trust in Mindwipe’s visions. Though he was one of the more open-minded Autobots, he did not get by as long as he did without a reasonable level of skepticism. It could have been nothing, but he knew he would find nothing but regret if the alternative were indeed true. He knew then and there that he needed to keep Obsidian as far away from Optimus as possible. He transformed into his vehicle-mode and blazed a trail towards the helicopter.

                Strika blinked in surprise. She wasn’t expecting a coward. ‘Hey!’ she called out to him. ‘We weren’t finished yet!’

                Obsidian only caught Jazz approaching a second before the specialist leaped at him. Transforming into robot mode, Jazz delivered a round-house kick across the side of the strategist’s head, knocking him away from Blackarachnia, rotors barely keeping him off the ground.

                Obsidian grabbed his face, liquid dripping from his eye-socket. He glared at Jazz. ‘You are _really_ going to regret doing that.’

                Blackarachnia rose to her feet, massaging her sore arm. ‘I had him, you know.’

                Jazz grinned. ‘I know, I know. Just thought I’d sweeten the pot a little—show you how we professionals do things.’

                Blackarachnia laughed at that. The blades of her stalks extending just next to his throat. ‘Sorry bud, but there’s nothing you can teach me I don’t already know.’

                Obsidian charged them both, rotors spinning in their direction. Blackarachnia was the first to attack, stalks clashing with the older Decepticons fists, holding them in place. Jazz leaped in the air, landing on Blackarachnia’s shoulders before kicking off once more and landing on Obsidian’s back.

                The strategist growled, trying to wriggle him off while simultaneously blocking Blackarachnia’s blades. ‘Get off of me! What is the matter with you people always touching me?!’

                ‘You ever see this before?’ Jazz called out to Blackarachnia. The spec ops agent pulled his arm back and punched a hole into his wing. Out he ripped a clump of wires and gears, screaming and crackling with electricity.

                Obsidian sneered. ‘Did you really think it would be that easy to—,’ his rotor stopped altogether. ‘Shit!’

                Jazz leapt off of him as Obsidian fell to the ground. With one rotor very much alive he began to spin in uncontrolled circles, tail dragging and tracing patterns in the sand.

                Landing next to Blackarachnia, Jazz proceeded to present the spinning Decepticon to his colleague as if presenting a caged lion to an audience. ‘Well? Impressed?’

                Blackarachnia shook her head in disbelief. ‘That is literally the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’

                Obsidian began shouting profanities at the two, unable to maintain his balance.

                ‘Well?’ Jazz asked, folding his arms, ‘Care to do the honours?’

                Blackarachnia cracked her knuckles. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’ Dashing forward, Blackarachnia struck her fist into Obsidian’s chest. Sending him spiralling next to the edge of the fissure’s cliff-face.

                His tail draping over the edge, he glared at Blackarachnia through bleeding eyes. ‘Listen to me, I can explain everything. Just don’t do this—‘

                Blackarachnia delivered a spinning kick to his jaw, sending him scrambling off the side of the cliff and, into the chasm below.

                She turned to Jazz, dusting her hands off triumphantly. ‘Now, what’s next?’

                A large figured overshadowed her, and in seconds she realized how screwed she was.

                ‘Me.’ Strika dropped her fist down, smashing Blackarachnia into the dirt. Jazz jumped at her, but was similarly flung aside from a quick swing of the back of her hand. Strika advanced, watching as the Autobot rolled around in the dirt. ‘You will pay for doing that to Obsidian.’ She charged him, grabbing Jazz by the back of his head, and shoving his face repeatedly into dusty canyon floor. The smaller Autobot could only struggle as Strika beat him down. ‘Both of you!’

                Watching as Jazz was assaulted, Blackarachnia peeled herself out of the ground and activated her blades. ‘Maybe I can show you a thing or two myself…’

                But before she could do a thing, Slipstream leaped on her back, brandishing a knife. Her legs wrapped around the spider’s torso; holding her in place as she stabbed her neck. Blackarachnia whirled around, blades trying to find the source of her pain. But Slipstream continued to stab.

                ‘You little demon, get off me!’ But by the time she finished her sentence, Energon had been gushing from her mouth.

                Slipstream only chuckled as she stabbed. ‘Say that again without your vocal processor why don’t you. Come on, admit it. You’d love to have me on top of you all the time. I’d be like another set of limbs! Why settle for eight legs when you can have nine!’ She paused. ‘Wait—ten! Ten legs! Eight plus two equals ten!’ She paused again. ‘Oh right, vocal processor. Can’t respond.’ She dug her knife deeper into Blackarachnia’s throat, tearing out circuitry and causing liquid to seep from her wounds.

                Ironhide fired a shot at Thundercracker, searing the ground where he once lay. Rolling back onto his feet, Thundercracker activated his incendiary gun and fired back, missing his head by an inch. Preparing to return, Ironhide caught sight of Starscream. He had been holding Optimus above the edge of the fissure, repeatedly beating him across the head as he did.

                ‘Dammit.’ With one cannon, Ironhide fired at Thundercracker, sending him scrambling out of the way. With the other he fired upon Starscream. Without aiming he was almost certain he would miss his shot, but Starscream’s arm succeeded in blowing apart regardless.

                Starscream yelled out in pain, then in horror as Optimus escaped his grip. The Prime fell, momentarily reaching for the cliff-face before missing his mark and plummeting into the chasm below.

                ‘NO!’ Starscream roared, whipping his head around to face Ironhide. ‘Now I’m going to have to go after him, you dolt!’

                But Ironhide was already charging him. Tackling; pinning him to the ground, and preparing to strike his body with all his might. Before he could land a hit, however, Starscream had already rolled him over and activated his saw-blade. ‘You know, I’ve never performed brain-surgery before, but when Autobots like you are concerned I am _always_ willing to try new things.’

                Ironhide activated his cannons, firing a blast at Starscream’s head. The Seeker ducked just in time, but remained startled by the Autobots surprisingly quick draw.

                Ironhide growled as he prepared another shot. ‘Enough with the amateur monologue, Starscream. Admit it, you’ve been looking forward to this as much as I have.’

                He opened fire, only this time Starscream was ready for him, and grabbed his wrist. The blast missed his head, but stunned him long enough for Ironhide to fight back. The weapons specialist punched him in the chest, sending him stumbling off of him and scrambling onto his feet. Back on his feet, Ironhide activated both of his cannons simultaneously and fired a pair of blasts at the Aerospace Commander. They struck his chest, but Starscream was quick to shrug them off as he advanced. He activated his Gatling cannons and fired consecutive rounds at the weapons specialist. Ironhide rolled into a dodge, then returned fire. Blocking the hit with his intact arm, Starscream spat.

                ‘Thundercracker!’

                The seeker regained his bearings; reloaded his incendiary rifle.

                ‘Go after Optimus. Kill him, bring him here— it doesn’t matter! Just get the job done!’ A blast from Ironhide’s cannon blew apart his lower abdomen, carving out a large crackling hole in his side. The Aerospace Commander fell to his knees, clutching his wound.

                Thundercracker winced at the sight. ‘Commander!’

                ‘I’m fine.’ Starscream’s hidden weaponry activated. His thrusters rearranged themselves over his shoulder and fired a pair of wide beams of light in Ironhide’s direction. Ironhide ducked, but the aftershock of the blast fried his circuits. He rolled as missiles emerged from Starscream’s chest and popped off in his direction, either striking the ground before him or soaring off into the distance. Starscream spat. ‘Now go, while I deal with this parasyte!’

                Reluctantly, Thundercracker nodded and transformed into his jet mode; flying off and into the chasm where Optimus fell.

                Activating his buzz-saws, Starscream’s thrusters rotated backward and sent him bursting towards the weapons specialist. Before he could connect a blow, Jazz landed on his back. Tearing him away from his fight.

                Starscream crashed into the ground, grabbing Jazz by the collar and tossing him away. ‘Strika!’ He pushed himself back onto his feet. ‘Strika—what the hell is the specialist doing on my back! I thought you had dealt with him!’

                A few yards away, Strika kneeled over the cliff-face, staring into the darkness below. ‘He got away.’

                ‘What?!’

                ‘I got lazy and decided to look for Obsidian instead. You can handle them, can’t you?’

                ‘Them?’

                Blackarachnia appeared from behind the spec-ops agent, leaping in the air and slicing patterns across Starscream’s chest. 

                Starscream grabbed the cuts, cursing through his teeth. ‘Slipstream!’

                Slipstream’s head appeared over Strika’s back. ‘I wanted to help!’

                Starscream rolled his eyes. ‘Oh of course.’

                ‘We got this,’ Jazz called out to Ironhide and Blackarachnia. ‘It’s three against one—we can take him!’

                Ironhide and Blackarachnia charged Starscream from his front and back respectively. At once, Starscream’s thrusters aimed backwards, fired a pair of beams that tore into Blackarachnia’s chest. His chest and face reopened, and a barrage of cluster missiles fired in Ironhide’s direction, forcing him to dive out of the way. The weapons-specialist fired a cannon blast as he fell, which was promptly stopped by the Starscream’s palm. The metal around his fingers shattered, but it was no real loss, as what was left was soon replaced with his saw blade. In his faceless form, Starscream continued to open fire in all directions, sending the Autobots scrambling for safety. With his blade he carved a deep cut into Ironhide’s back. Blackarachnia leaped at him a second time, but was quickly dispatched with a round-house kick to her side. Any time Jazz tried to get the drop on him, he was grabbed and tossed aside like a toy.

                When he was bashed into the dirt for the third time, Jazz had to admit: ‘Okay, so maybe this is going to be a tad harder than it looks.’

                As the three Autobots charged him, Starscream spread his arms wide and laughed. ‘Come on! It doesn’t matter how long it takes—I’ll kill you all!’

\-----

Optimus woke in a dark and damp space. Sunlight only barely illuminated the small crab-like creatures and fungi growing and evolving at the bottom of the crevice. Optimus rolled over, groaning. He stared up the fissure and frowned. ‘How the hell am I supposed to get back up there?’

                ‘Does it really matter?’

                Slowly, Optimus turned around. He wasn’t alone. In his experience, he half expected to find Megatron speaking to him. Turning his head, he instead found Obsidian, hovering over a rock with his hands wrapped neatly behind his back.

                Optimus reached for his axe, only to grasped empty air.

                ‘Looking for this?’ Obsidian presented his axe from behind his back. ‘Don’t worry,’ he tossed it aside. It clanked against the wet rocky ground, ‘you’re not going to need it.’

                Optimus raised his remaining fist in defense. ‘How long have you been here?’

                ‘I watched you sleep, if that’s what you mean.’

                Optimus blinked, but maintained his stance. ‘Why?’

                ‘Oh it’s nothing as… _bizarre_ , as that.’ He hovered closer.

                Optimus backed away, eyeing his rotor, ‘I saw you get grounded.’

                ‘Please,’ Obsidian appeared to grin. ‘Do you realize how easy it is to reconnect the wiring connected between my mind and my rotors? If it were that easy to disable them I would have plummeted to my death a millennia ago.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I used it to my advantage so I could separate myself from the fight. You could say I was the one who ensured that Starscream would drop you down here. With me.’

                Optimus squinted at that. ‘I thought that was Ironhide.’

                Obsidian shrugged. ‘He missed. I had to be quick with my aim.’

                Optimus merely shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. What do you want from me? Why haven’t you killed me yet?’

                The strategist began to hover closer but, recognizing Prime’s reserved nature, quickly withdrew. ‘I will try to explain this as… softly as I can.’ His hands clasped together. ‘Optimus I am in charge of a certain… group of people. Decepticons, of course. We have been meeting in secret for the past year.’ He paused. ‘Since the day Megatron died, to be exact, however we had prepared long before the inevitability had occurred.’

                Optimus cracked his neck and bounced on his toes, preparing for a surprise attack. ‘So what? You’re here to bring me to justice? See me in court rather than execute me on the spot?’

                He raised his hands. ‘No. Not nearly. My… organization—we called ourselves the Combaticons. Officially, we are a tactical reserve named after a group of a similar function under Autobot Command. Really, we were a union of Decepticons truly loyal to Megatron. We were an inner circle of Megatron’s—designed to follow orders under the radar. Not even the conclave knew of our true purpose. Whenever Scorponok or Starscream attempted to act beyond their reach, we would ensure their actions did not cross treasonous territory.’ He frowned. ‘Which it has.’

                Optimus had finally lowered his guard. ‘Explain.’

                ‘Soundwave betrayed Megatron. In hindsight we really should have seen it coming. We had mostly focused on Starscream and Skystalker. The obvious ones—though we were better off observing the quiet ones—the _intelligent_ ones—instead.’

                ‘What did Soundwave do? I killed Megatron. I am the one responsible, not him.’

                Obsidian’s hands clasped before his lap. ‘Oh, his betrayal was not murderous in nature. Rather, Soundwave’s betrayal occurred _after_ his demise.’

                ‘ _After_ his demise?’ Optimus frowned. ‘How the hell does someone betray a corpse?’

                ‘By falsifying their will.’

                His frown deepened. ‘According to Soundwave, Megatron’s will elected leadership to whoever killed his killer—whoever killed _me._ ’

                Obsidian shook his head. ‘That was not what Megatron specified. His will was not the announcement of some “contest” or “game”. It was a new amendment to the Decepticon manifesto.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘You should never have been in danger in the first place.’

                ‘If what you’re saying is true, then that would mean…’ Prime closed his eyes. It was all a lie. All this time he thought he was Megatron’s legacy. He thought the bounty on his head was his recompense. He thought it made up for the crime he committed in executing Megatron. He thought he had justice. In the end it was all a lie crafted by a power hungry Decepticon. He was just another pawn of a power-hungry Decepticon. He fell to his knees. ‘It’s all meaningless, then. Soundwave was using me for the sake of selecting a puppet.’

                Obsidian’s optics narrowed. ‘I see you’ve already figured that part out.’ He hovered closer to Optimus. This time he allowed it. ‘Soundwave controls all information. As such he is in control of everything. This bounty on your head was a distraction from that fact.’

                Optimus shook his head. He should have died a long time ago. He remembered. ‘None of that explains why you haven’t killed me yet. If what you said is true, then I’m nothing more than a pawn. I have no role in any of this.’

                Obsidian cracked a grin. ‘That is where you’re wrong, Optimus. You never asked about Megatron’s new amendment.’

                ‘Does it really matter?’

                ‘More than you can imagine.’ He lowered himself to Prime’s level. ‘This is going to be a lot to digest, but you need to know. I, and the rest of the Combaticons for that matter, work in the best interest of the true leader of the Decepticons. As you know, Soundwave acted without their say.’ He placed a hand on Prime’s shoulder. ‘Soundwave’s bounty was technically within the jurisdiction of Megatron’s new amendment, however, because it went without the true leader’s say, it has fallen redundant. The Combaticons have recruited a small force of like-minded Decepticons—all willing to work in accordance of the true Decepticon leader. I sent an assassin to take Soundwave out of the picture, but it proved to be an utter failure. As I suspected, it is impossible to get the drop on an outlier—a mind reader like him. Which is why we need to turn the public against Soundwave.’

                ‘I don’t understand—who are you working for? What do I have to do with any of this?’

                ‘I am about to tell you, but it will be difficult. Megatron’s new amendment—it was a matter of all future Decepticon elections. No democracy. No chain of command. His amendment decreed that Decepticon leadership be achieved, and only achieved, through regicide.’

                Optimus could barely wrap his head around it. ‘What the hell?’

                ‘How is it effective, you mean? The Decepticons have guarded their positions with more vigour than any being in the galaxy. Megatron made it so that if anyone were to kill him— to prove themselves capable of overcoming him— to prove themselves better than him— Autobot, Decepticon, or otherwise—that his position would subsequently fall to them.’

                Optimus thought over what he was being said and shuddered. ‘No… That’s not…’

                ‘Optimus, according to the manifesto, a leader had been chosen as soon as he died. The true Decepticon leader. Do you know who that is?’

                Optimus was silent.

                ‘Optimus. Officially—as decreed by the Decepticon’s high council and its subsidiaries, as printed by the late Lord Megatron himself, and as officially recorded in the Decepticon manifesto… _you,_ Optimus are the official Lord and Commander of the Decepticon Empire.’

                The Prime covered his face. Eyes shut. After a moment of silence, he asked: ‘How long did you say I have been… the thing you said.’

                ‘Since you killed Megatron?’

                He threw his hands into his lap. ‘Just what the hell am I supposed to do with this information?!’

                ‘Become excellent.’

                He raised his head. He and Obsidian locked eyes.

                The strategist began. ‘My lord. There are approximately seventy-two Decepticons awaiting your command. There are more locked away in both Autobot and Decepticon prison complexes across the galaxy. Our forces are small, but with time they will grow.’

                ‘You’re a lot stupider than they say they are.’ Optimus smirked. ‘Do you really expect the Decepticons to follow an Autobot?’

                ‘But you’re not an Autobot, are you?’ Obsidian’s eyes lowered. ‘Not anymore, at least. Never entirely. From what I’ve heard, the Autobots want you out of the picture as much as Soundwave does. Your file has been read by everyone. They know your history. They know of your criticisms of the Autobot hierarchy. Just as they know of your history as a sympathizer of certain – but not all – Decepticon ideals. I’ve studied you for some time, Optimus, and I believe you to be capable of attracting Autobots and Decepticons alike to your side. As long as you survive, Soundwave has no power. He does not have the charisma, nor the power to maintain such a following. If you set up a rival cell, Soundwave’s enemies will flood to it.’

                ‘And you think I have the charisma and power to rival it?’

                ‘ _You_ don’t?’ Obsidian squeezed his shoulder. ‘Optimus, you managed to destroy Bludgeon’s entire army with four confidants alone. You took down the Seacons, and survived the onslaught of Starscream on multiple occasions. You’ve killed Megatron. You have _definitely_ presented yourself worthy. But increase your power—rally your numbers—expand your borders, and you will attract the attention of more.’

                ‘I won’t be a tyrant.’

                ‘You don’t have to be one. Be like Magnus. Follow the very same formula of fear and manipulation we have followed for centuries. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to kill anyone you don’t want to kill. My point is, Optimus, if you reveal your position to the masses now, you will garner undeniable support. Thousands of Cybertronians, Autobot and Decepticon alike, are as disillusioned with the war as you. Thousands looking for a place for themselves. Many will rebel against you, many will try to kill you— that’s unavoidable. But your forces will increase at a far quicker rate than theirs. Your cell could end the war as we know it. Do you understand what that means? It means you have the opportunity to create the ideal Cybertronian society you envision. No functionist learnings, no tyranny or dictatorships—you could save the universe, Optimus. You could bring a new Golden Age upon the Cybertronian race.’

                Optimus leaned his head back. He stared at the sky.

                ‘It’s a difficult decision, and I know you don’t like the sound of being a Decepticon Warlord—but those are only titles. You can be what you want to be. I am merely the passage between where you are now, and what you can become—‘

                ‘I’ll do it.’

                Obsidian flinched. ‘What?’

                Optimus rose to his feet, rising until he stood a head above the kneeling strategist. ‘I’ll do it. I will become the leader of the Decepticons you so desire. I will do as you say, and follow your suggestions—insofar as they do not bring harm to anyone I care about, or conflict with my own interests. You’re right, Obsidian. I’ve been running for too long to little benefit. I thought I could save myself by disappearing from the Galaxy entirely, but I know now that isn’t going to change a damn thing.’ He placed a hand on Obsidian’s shoulder. ‘I think this is my last opportunity for redemption. I think that if I can truly accomplish what you suggest, then maybe… maybe I can make up for everything I’ve lost.’

                Obsidian grinned wider than he had in a millennia. ‘Yes…’ he bowed his head. ‘Lord Optimus… I will do whatever you ask.’

                Optimus raised his hand. ‘Please, call me…’ he paused. ‘Obsidian.’

                ‘What?’

                The strategist elevated himself, and turned himself 180 degrees. Watching them from a yard away was Thundercracker. His optics were wide and sizzling with white light. His fist clenched around an incendiary rifle.

                Obsidian’s head fell. ‘How much have you heard?’

                Thundercracker stormed towards them. ‘You were planning on defecting to Optimus, Obsidian? Optimus?!’

                Obsidian raised his servos. ‘Look, it’s more complicated than that.’

                He motioned him to drop them. ‘I heard everything. I _know_ everything. Where does that leave us in all this? Obsidian? What happens to Acid Storm, and Gutcruncher, and all the others hoping for a bright future with the Decepticons?’

                Obsidian sighed. ‘Well, I would _hope_ they would see that future with us.’

                ‘And Starscream? What about him? What about us?! After Megatron? After Skywarp…? Does Strika know about… about this?’

                Obsidian lowered his head. His eyes shut. ‘No. She does not.’

                ‘How is she—how are _any_ of us supposed to accept this?! That the one who killed Megatron—who we have been hunting this entire time is to be our leader? How does that help anyone?’

                Obsidian turned to Optimus. ‘My Lord…’

                Optimus stepped forward, hand in the air. ‘Thundercracker—look. I’m as new to this as you are. I know it’s all very hard to… accept. But believe me when I say we can put a stop to what Soundwave is—‘

                Thundercracker cocked his incendiary rifle. ‘Stand back!’

                This time it was Obsidian’s turn to move forward. ‘There is nothing to fear, Thundercracker. I want the absolute best for the Decepticon Empire. Optimus is a powerful leader. Not the _most_ powerful, and, of course, like all leaders, flawed, but he bears the characteristics required to do the Decepticons justice. You know I’m loyal to Megatron. It’s what he would have wanted.’

                ‘Would he?’ Thundercracker stared down the barrel of his rifle. ‘Would he really want an Autobot to lead?’

                ‘That is irrelevant now, isn’t it?’ he offered his hand. ‘Join us, Thundercracker. Become a Decepticon with us—and remove Soundwave from his throne.’

                Thundercracker stared at him a moment. Then to his gun. Slowly he lowered it. Then he remembered. He had no Decepticons to return to. He only served Starscream. He, Obsidian, Starscream, Strika, and Slipstream were the only home he knew. He was the Decepticon who let Megatron die. He would never find redemption otherwise. He raised his gun.

                ‘I’m sorry Obsidian, but I did not come all this way to let an Autobot take over.’

                ‘Thundercracker don’t— wait. Hear me out.’

                He lowered his gun, offering the strategist one last chance to change his mind.

                ‘Just tell me—can you guarantee that you will never become one of us. That you will never serve the true Decepticons.’

                He nodded.

                ‘Ah,’ Obsidian stared at the ground. ‘How unfortunate.’ He raised his head. ‘Then you should know that it was not Optimus’ fault that Skywarp is in his current predicament, if that’s what’s troubling you.’

                He blinked. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

                ‘In case Optimus was compromised during Bludgeon’s assault, I knew we were going to need an escape ticket in case things went south. So I ordered Ferak to turn Skywarp into a mobile ground-bridge. I am the reason Skywarp is fused with the Nemesis’ engine. I undid his cuffs when you weren’t looking—so I would have an excuse to kill him before he revealed my little secret during our negotiations. I’m the one who kept Skywarp in stasis for this long, Thundercracker. Not Optimus, if you’re going to blame anyone, blame—‘

                Thundercracker screamed and cocked his weapon.

                ‘Thundercracker don’t—!’

                 He opened fire. A burst of flame and lasers popped from his rifle and zeroed in on Optimus.

                ‘NO!’ Obsidian hovered into the way of the blast. He expected to stomach the blast, however he had long since overestimated his durability. The blast struck his chest and sent him flying back into Optimus.

                Thundercracker fired another blast, and Obsidian fell on top of his Lord. Optimus lay pinned against the chasm wall, sandwiched between hard rock and Obsidian’s rotors. The rotors tore into his neck, shredding apart the tubes of metal and wire connecting his head to his body. Optimus screamed.

                ‘I’m sorry,’ Thundercracker muttered, reloading his rifle.

                Obsidian tried to move, but another blast from Thundercracker pushed him deeper into the rock. His rotors dug into Prime’s throat, severing—

\----

‘What?’

Optimus looked around.

White.

‘What?’

White.

He tried to look into the distance. Where was he just now? He was just—

White.

‘What?’

\-----

                ‘Out of the way!’ In his vehicle mode, Ironhide fired a blast from his hybrid cannon, forming a beam that tore through Starscream’s mid-section.

                The Aerospace Commander growled, grabbing Jazz by the leg and hoisting him up like a shield. ‘I can do this all day!’

                Blackarachnia charged him, blades slicing through the air.

                ‘You couldn’t land a hit on me if you tried!’ Starscream swung Jazz at Blackarachnia like a club, knocking her aside. When Ironhide prepared another shot, the Aerospace commander threw Jazz’s crumpled body in the way, forcing Ironhide to withdraw the shot and catch the elite guardsman in his arms.

                ‘What’s going on?’

                Strika turned around to find a small Decepticon staring up at her. ‘Oh, you must be the spy Starscream was telling us about. I’m looking for Obsidian—he and Thundercracker should be locating Optimus right no. The boss is over there playing with his toys.’

                ‘I can see that,’ Flipsides watched Strika as she stuck her head into the chasm, scanning the darkness for her teammates. ‘You not going to help him?’

                ‘Starscream? Nah. He’s got it all under control. Like I said—he’s playing with them.’

                ‘Huh.’ Flipsides balanced on her toes. ‘So I just reconnected with the Ark’s communications beacon. Soundwave’s been talking. He says he’d appreciate it if—‘

                Slipstream pointed into the darkness. ‘Oh. There they are.’

                As she said, Thundercracker and Obsidian ascended in their aerial forms. They hovered over the battlefield briefly before transforming and landing in the center of it.

                Starscream paused, tossing Ironhide aside so he could get at his subordinates. ‘Thundercracker! Obsidian! Where have you been?!’

                Obsidian hung back, his head low. Energon had been splashed across his frame.

                It was Thundercracker who stepped forward. He too was drenched in black and purple liquids. There was something hanging from his servo. He was shaking.

                Starscream glared at him. ‘Well? I told you to retrieve Optimus! Unless you have him hidden in your chest compartment, which I highly doubt, I—‘

                Thundercracker showed him what he was carrying. He was holding a large round object by the by several thick wires. On closer inspection, Starscream realized that the wires trailed from the neck of the severed head of Optimus Prime. His eyes were a murky grey. Coloured with nothingness.

                Blackarachnia fell to her knees. Jazz looked away, shaking slowly. Ironhide stood motionless. His eyes fixated on what was left of his friend.

                Thundercracker dropped the head at Starscream’s feet.

                ‘Optimus Prime is dead.’ He spoke through a shaking voice. ‘As a member of Starscream’s brigade, I hereby declare Starscream Lord and Master of the Decepticon Empire.’

                Starscream’s eyes blazed. His mind screamed. He felt like he was on fire.

                Flipsides blinked. ‘Oh hey, he did it.’

\-----

                Across the Galaxy, Soundwave watched the ordeal through Flipsides’ eyes.

                At last, the bounty had been completed. His puppet had won. He flipped a mental switch, and the announcement was made.

\-----

Across the galaxy, an ear-piercing siren rippled.

A leader had been chosen.

\----

White.

‘Where am I?’

White.

‘Please answer me. I can feel you there.’

White.

‘Talk to me, please.’

‘Optimus.’

White.

‘Who are you?’

White.

‘I know you.’

White.

          


	59. Born to Kill

See the child. See the Sparkling. See the _thing._

Watch as it raises its ugly head from the metallic muck that makes up seventeen-percent of Cybertron’s natural crust. See it blink and stutter and flinch at everything in his limited field of vision. Watch it cry out at the vastness of the universe.

A voice calls for it. A small thing. Equally as scared has arisen from the ground itself. It bumbles over on legs barely capable of walking. Liquid pouring from its soggy, semi-developed eye-sockets. It’s just like him. It looks just like him.

It tells him so. ‘You and I are the same,’ it says.

Small, gooey hands wrap around the thing. Servos lock intimately. ‘We are one and the same.’

See the Sparkling grow. See it questioned. See it dream. See it fail. It finds itself separated from it’s supposed other half. It finds itself nurtured and spoon-fed by doctors and nurses. It wants to be just like them. It finds itself standing before a circle of beings he never imagines he’d ever come into contact with. They point at him and smirk. He was theirs now.

See the Cybertronian stand in as a dot in a line, alongside an uncountable number of fellow robots. See him reduced to a mere number. A mere decimal. Chests puffed proudly. Voices singing anthems and chanting marches.

The elder approaches him and grins. He tells him, ‘Your name. You are Optimus now. Optimus Prime.’

He wants to be saved. He wants to be saved by Megatron.

\-----

Soundwave swept down Kolkular’s halls, a convocation of Decepticons trailing behind and alongside him. This Kolkular was not the original, as much as the empire liked to pretend it was. That Kolkular—the _old_ Kolkular—had been decimated with the rest of Cybertron long, long ago. This Kolkular was a reminder—a retrospective on past Decepticon leadership and success. It was a far more effective method of boosting morale than some cherry picked city name concocted for a hastily built base of operations. To serve in the fortress of Kolkular was considered a great honour—even if the fortress itself was completely different from the original. Surrounding Soundwave were Ratbat, Magnificus, Garboil, Carnivac, and Roadblock. The highest in rank when it came to city defense and intelligence. All had come to understand that by the time they had reached the transport chamber, someone had completed the bounty. Of course, none of them came to suspect Soundwave’s own role in any of it. Soundwave was several steps ahead, farther than any one of them dared to suspect.

                ‘Magnificus. Details on Reflector’s report.’

                The black strategist began, ‘The news has spread throughout the galaxy as you commanded. However, as you have most likely already suspected, there has been some controversy among the more experienced Generals present.’

                ‘I can empathize. Garboil, what of the riots?’

                The bird had been resting on the former Regent’s shoulder. ‘What of them? They’re still going on in several quadrants across the galaxy. They’ll die down eventually, of course. partially because all riots do, but mostly because I sent the DJD to loiter around in their backyards.’

                ‘Any support?’

                ‘There’s support everywhere, though it is more of a reluctant acceptance than a hearty ‘hoo-ah’ if you catch my meaning.’

                ‘Change their minds then. Make them _like_ Starscream. Make them _adore_ him. Make them think that Starscream was the best possible result of this whole mess. That is your assignment: mold Starscream into the perfect leader in the eyes of the public. The media is your instrument, Garboil. I expect you to play me a symphony.’

                The avian Decepticon made a click with his tongue. ‘It’s not going to be easy, you know. This _is_ Starscream we’re talking about.’

                Soundwave shot him a glare. ‘And?’

                ‘And… I’ll get send a copy of our next broadcast’s script as soon as it’s ready.’

                ‘Good.’

                Ratbat fluttered next to the former Regent’s head. ‘If you wouldn’t mind my asking—.’

                ‘You need not ask for my permission to speak. I am no longer your Lord.’

                ‘Excellent, then I won’t waste our time with useless—.’

                ‘But I am still, and always will be, your Master—continue, Ratbat.’

                He paused. ‘You seem unusually confident in Starscream’s position. Can we be sure his reign will be accepted?’

                ‘His reign wouldn’t have been accepted were he Megatron reincarnated. No one would. If you thought this bounty was for anything aside from the revival of Decepticon imperialism, then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.’

                Ratbat reeled back, offended. ‘What?’

                ‘Between the announcement of Megatron’s death and this very moment, thousands of Decepticon guilds have expanded across the Galaxy—some tenfold. The Decepticon Empire has conquered thousands of solar-systems in their search for Optimus, resulting in the reproduction of Energon and mining resources that have long since been depleted since the Surge. Decepticon territory has stretched into deep Autobot space, cornering our enemies into their central sectors and rendering them ripe for attack, while simultaneously fortifying our own outposts.’

                ‘But the Generals— The _Guild Leaders,_ if our change in Government has conflicted with their interests, then they could very well refuse to cooperate. Is expansionism worth the cost and energy if we have yet to directly control any territories? Are the resources we’ve acquired not wasted on fanatics and sociopaths that we don’t even control?!’

                ‘I fail to see the issue. Before Megatron’s death, the Generals chose to rule their own personal empires with little to no attempt at enacting a thorough mechanical revolution. Megatron’s death is what urged them to merge forces, form alliances, and conquer the surrounding systems. It does not matter whether or not we control them directly— if the territory is under Decepticon rule, then the Empire will thrive. If they ever _do_ attempt to act out of order, we still have the DJD and Sixshot under our control. We have Cryotek’s Mafia and the Secret Service on our side. We can force them into staying loyal should the issue ever arise.’

                Ratbat growled under his breath as they entered the space-bridge’s main chamber. Soundwave was being uncharacteristically overconfident in himself, and he had begun to hope the Director of Communications would begin to learn his place once Starscream set things in order. Looking forward, he sneered. ‘Speak of the devil.’

Standing next to the spacebridge, were Sixshot and Hun-grr. Hun-grr waved them over. ‘Hah, thought you might have gotten ahead of us for a micro-second!’

                Soundwave greeted them with a nod.

                Roadblock and Hun-Grr shook hands eagerly as Carnivac and Magnificus examined Sixshot’s frame. Rarely did they have had the opportunity to witness the notorious six-changer in person.

                Sixshot raised his hand, forming the Cybertronian equivalent of a peace-sign with his fingers. ‘Yo.’

                Soundwave snorted a laugh at that, causing everyone to stop and stare at him. He wasn’t known to be prone to laughter.

                Embarrassed, Soundwave quickly diverted their attention with something else. ‘Sixshot, I had thought you formed an assembly with Bludgeon.’

                He shook his head. ‘It didn’t work out. He didn’t have what I was looking for, you see.’

                Soundwave’s visor squinted. ‘Hm.’ He waved them aside. ‘Then call in everyone you can think of.’ The portal activated, illuminating Soundwave’s visor with a greenish tint. ‘The new Lord of the Decepticons will require a suitable welcoming party.’

\-----

                Starscream felt an intense heat behind his eyes. He felt his mouth salivating energy. He spread his arms wide, body trembling as he beheld the rolling red sky above. His jaw opened, a scream of energy plumed up above. He let out an intense gasp and announced. ‘Spawn of a glitch! God loves me!’ He could barely believe it. He had been moving towards this goal for so long. Longer than he had known who Optimus was. Now here he was. He was Lord of all Decepticons. Emperor of the cosmos. Finally, he could bring upon change. He felt like his travels across the Galaxy were going to last forever, that this moment would be forever out of reach. Only this time, his travels were over. This time, he had _won._

The trio of remaining Autobots looked on in distraught as Starscream laughed.

Thundercracker stood motionless. Prime’s head lay at his feet. He had achieved his redemption, didn’t he? He killed the Prime. He avenged Megatron. He stared at his bloodied hand. The one that carried Prime’s head. His spark pulsed painfully.

‘Thundercracker!’ Starscream called to him, but the blue Seeker remained stagnant. He didn’t need Starscream shouting at him now. Now, when he felt like the biggest hypocrite in the known universe. He executed Optimus like he did Megatron. Why couldn’t they see that? Why couldn’t Starscream just leave him alo—

Starscream embraced him. Holding him close, and then after a few seconds, closer. Thundercracker’s mouth opened, then closed. _What just…? Is this happening right now?_ For the first time in his life, Thundercracker was experiencing a hug. Flinching, Thundercracker lifted his arms to wrap around his Commander.

‘I am sorry,’ Starscream said.

Thundercracker flinched.

‘I’m sorry I treated you the way I did. I treated you for… less than you were. You’ve proven to me that you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, and thank you. Thank you so much for doing this for me. Thank you for helping me reach this moment. I owe it all to you.’ Starscream released him, took a step back, beamed at him, then turned to the others.

                As soon as his back turned, Thundercracker began to feel something well up inside of him. He wasn’t anybody until he killed someone important. Thundercracker was a ghost. A non-entity drifting through someone else’s life. And in the violent world he lived in as a Decepticon, it took becoming a murderer to become anything at all. It took ending one life just to have one of his own. He broke into tears. Grossly sobbing over the death of his enemy. _Why?_ He demanded. _Why is this happening to me?!_ Nobody seemed to notice. Who Thundercracker was, the person, not the Decepticon, was invisible. Nobody could see him. Nobody _cared_ who he was. Not Starscream, not Skywarp, not Strika, nobody—

                Someone clasped his hand. Altogether he stopped, then looked down to find Slipstream standing by his side, holding his right hand. ‘Making fun of me again, Slipstream?’ He wiped his optics with his left arm and frowned down at the Seeker. ‘I’m really not in the mood for this! If you’re going to bother someone, go bother Obsidian or Strika for a change. Alright?!’

                Slipstream looked up, staring blankly at the seeker. Her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to say something. Instead she only smiled, and faced forward once more. She squeezed his hand.

                Thundercracker stared at her, puzzled. _That’s not fair._ He faced forward. _That’s not fair at all._

Obsidian watched on in silence. He had failed. He had lost to Soundwave. By his own blade no less. It was an unfathomably mundane way to die. Decapitated by a rotor blade. There was no fight. No drama. It was an _accident._ The Lord of the Decepticons had died _by chance._ What would he tell the others? It was too much for him to bear. In his younger years he would be furious. In his younger years he’d have murdered Thundercracker for his crime. Now he could only hover in solemn consideration. He had worked so hard for nothing. He had lost this battle.

Strika slapped him on the back, she had been doing a dance in celebration. To her, this was a monumental event. To her they had won the lottery. ‘Is that Prime blood I smell?’ She winked at him. ‘Letting Thundercracker take the credit, eh? You’ve gone soft on the little guy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll be too busy gorging on expensive Energon now that we’ve hit the jackpot!’ Strika’s expression quickly turned grim. She knew Obsidian well enough to realize that something was terribly wrong. ‘What happened?’

Refusing to meet her gaze, Obsidian only shrugged.

Strika squeezed his shoulder. ‘We’ll talk about it later, okay? Just try to look happy. We can do that much for Starscream, can’t we?’

Obsidian nodded, and lifted his head. He couldn’t bring himself to smile.

Ironhide was motionless.

Blackarachnia’s four optics stared at Prime’s severed head. She had fallen to her knees, her claws rested on her lap. Normally she’d hate herself for losing control of her emotions, but this was different. She didn’t care if she looked vulnerable. She didn’t care if she was showing how much she cared about Optimus. What does any of that matter, anyway? This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It had barely been a day since she and Ironhide discussed a future with one of them gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. Not when they hadn’t made up yet. She and Optimus had been on bad terms over the pettiest thing. She wouldn’t speak to him once during their traverse across the planet’s plane. Why didn’t she say something then? Why didn’t she just swallow her pride and just make up with one of the only people she ever cared about? Now he was dead, and she’d never be able to patch things up with the Prime. She’d never get to laugh with him again. She’d never get to tease him again. She’d never get to travel the cosmos with him again. It wasn’t fair. They hadn’t even made up yet.

                Jazz had been averting his gaze from the corpse. He was warned, and yet he did nothing to stop this from happening. He could have done something. He could have researched Flipsides’ file, or stayed by Prime’s side, or have tried anything to prevent the tragedy from occurring. He failed. Some special agent he was. Now he was their commander. By default, _he_ was now their commanding officer. He wasn’t ready for that. He had been with them for less than a week and he had already been forced into a position of such severity in such a dire stretch of time. He wasn’t supposed to be here just to replace Optimus. In truth he was just a spy for Sentinel. He was only here to deliver information. He gritted his teeth and examined the area, trying not to focus on his old friend’s head. He realized there was no point. Strika hadn’t bothered towards the end of their fight, because she, in her experience, had already grasped that the Autobots had no chances of defeating them. Starscream alone was too much for the three of them to handle, and could have probably killed them all by himself, given enough time. Finally, Jazz spoke.

                ‘We need to run.’

                Only Blackarachnia looked up at him.

                ‘There’s no point fighting them. Strika’s practically immortal, and Starscream’s still in peak condition. They have no reason to kill us now that Optimus is…’ He couldn’t say it. _Coward._ ‘We need to survive. For him. For Optimus. We need to—,’

                Ironhide raised a hand. It was the first time he moved since Thundercracker arrived. Jazz went silent.

                ‘Jazz,’ he began speaking. ‘As Lieutenant Commander, the responsibility of Team Prime’s Leadership now falls to you.’

                Silence.

                ‘Except…’ Ironhide paused, as if to carefully consider which words he wanted to use. ‘Except… I think…’

Another pause. ‘I’m usurping you.’

                Jazz frowned behind his visor. ‘You are…’

                ‘I’m usurping command from you. I, Weapons Specialist Ironhide, am usurping command from you. I’m stealing leadership.’

                It took Jazz a moment to understand what Ironhide was saying.

                Ironhide leaned in towards the Lieutenant, calmly asking: ‘Are you going to do anything about it?’

                Jazz stared into Ironhide’s eyes. He was calm. His optics weren’t dead, but they lacked the life once contained behind them. Jazz understood. They would never follow his orders. They would never listen to what he suggested. And Jazz realized that were the position to fall to someone else, neither would he. He shook his head. ‘No.’

                Ironhide nodded to him, then turned to the Decepticons. ‘Autobots…’ He pointed a large meaty digit at Starscream, optics suddenly coming to life. They flared and crackled with cyan blue energy, the colour of his spark. His spark-casing was flaring, bursting and exerting power at its brightest. Steam hissed from his every crevice. His cannons glowed brighter than they ever glowed before.

**_‘TEAR THESE BASTARDS APART!’_ **

                In a burst of speed, Blackarachnia transformed into her massive spider-mode. Letting out a blood-thirsty screech and releasing all control on her system. She dashed forward. Jazz transformed into his speedster mode, accelerating at full power and boosting at the Decepticons.

                Starscream ceased his celebration, and grinned at the incoming Autobots. ‘You still have some fight in you after all, eh?’ He activated his machine-gun and fired a storm of bullet-fire in their direction. ‘Come on, then! Get slagged by the Lord of the Decepticon Empire!’

Ironhide advanced at a medium pace, firing from his cannons repeatedly.

                There was nothing left, now. Nothing was going to stop him from slaughtering every last one of them.

\-----

_Grrrrrnnnn…_

In the Ark’s storage bay sat Mindwipe’s trailer. It rumbled and groaned. After a moment of silence, it’s doors creaked open on their own.

Searing yellow eyes glowed from within.

\-----

White.

Clearly, Optimus had realized, he was dead.

He couldn’t feel, nor smell, nor, taste, nor hear. All that laid before him was an eternal landscape of searing white. A sick thought crossed his mind. This was the afterlife? An eternity of nothingness? He was never the most loyal practitioner of Primus, but he at least expected something to be waiting for him on the other side. Then another, sicker thought crossed his mind. Perhaps this was his recompense. Perhaps this was hell. He had died and became locked in an eternity of suffering. How was he supposed to register that?

                ‘Optimus.’

                ‘I knew it!’ He shouted. He could hear after all. ‘I _thought_ there was someone here.’

                But the voice didn’t reply.

Sudden horror. ‘No! Please—say something again! Just to let me know I’m not alone.’

‘Optimus.’

He would sigh if he could. ‘Look, when I hear your voice, and feel your presence, I get this… image in my mind. If that image is any indication of who you are, then…’

He felt something in the presence. A feeling of hesitation perhaps.

‘Then you are the one I’ve been looking for. You’re the one I’ve been searching the Galaxy for ever since I killed Megatron.’

                The image became reality. The robot was cloaked. Floating in the center of Prime’s vision and staining his once white canvas view. The robot spoke. ‘You’re right.’

                ‘What are you doing here?’ Optimus asked. ‘You’re not dead too, are you?’

                ‘No, not yet,’ the robot replied.

                ‘Then answer the question: what are you doing here?’ He paused. ‘Wherever _here_ is.’

                The robot paused before answering. ‘I am not really… here, as you say I am. I am less “me” and more of an interference. An interference with the event of your death.’

                ‘Then I’m _not_ dead?’

                ‘Oh…’ The robot sounded regretful to admit. ‘You are very much dead. Your brain-module has been crushed. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

                It was true then. ‘You know; you’ve done a pretty crappy job at keeping me alive.’

                ‘Look, man. I’ve done something nobody else has before. I am talking with a dead guy. I think I deserve some level of respect here.’

                ‘Good job. Look how impressed I am. Oh wait, you can’t. I’m dead.’

                ‘I have a way of bringing you back.’

                ‘Well why didn’t you say that in the first place? Wait. How?’

                The figure brought a needled servo to where their face would be. ‘Where to start… Well, I had been aware of your trailing me for the past month. I’ve managed to get away from you for a while, but… that’s not important. I had Mindwipe prick your neck with one of my needles. I’ve imbedded a memory into you, the one you’re having right now, and in part taken a sample of your processor data. I’ve had Mindwipe upload that data into the trailer I had him gift you with.’

                ‘That’s what that was? I hadn’t even considered…’

                ‘I had Mindwipe influence your decision with his ability. He’s an outlier, you see. One capable of controlling the motives of others. He says he can see the future with it as well, but again, it really doesn’t matter _what_ he thinks. I have your mind in his trailer back in the Ark, however it won’t be able to function properly without a spark. Which is why it’s important for you to do as I say. Fast.’

                ‘What am I supposed to—I don’t even know how I’m perceiving this right now.’

                The figure sighed. ‘Listen, have you ever seen a Cybertronian death ritual before?’

                ‘I have.’

                ‘You know how the spark leaves the body? How it leaves its casing and floats up into the sky?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘That’s what you are right now. Your spark is ascending into space where it will disperse across the cosmos. Your spark contains copies of the original conscious, and as such you have accessed this memory before dying. You are slowly dispersing as we speak, however it is possible to change your direction.’

`               ‘Is it? Back in med-class we studied spark transplants. Sometimes a casing wouldn’t accept the spark due to the owner’s state of mind. Sometimes the sparks would try and escape. When calmed, they would sit still so that we could further expunge the spark energy back into a new body. But that’s only possible if the brain module survived…’

                ‘The sample we retrieved from you should work as a placeholder. Though it is not your original mind, it is essentially a perfect copy.’

                ‘But that’s not possible. What you’re suggesting is essentially—‘

                ‘A step in the formula for cloning. Yes.’

                ‘But cloning has been abandoned for deca-drons! It was agreed between the Autobot and Decepticon forces that the technology was too dangerous and raised too many questions regarding ethics to exist. What if there existed a dozen Megatrons at once? What if the Autobots spawned an army of Magnuses? Or Perceptors? Or Prowls? What of population and individuality? It went against the moral codes of both factions, and reduces our race to a mere decimal.’  He paused. ‘You know how to create clones.’

                ‘We stole a copy of the clone formula before it was destroyed. We needed it in case anything such as this occurred.’

                ‘Anything such as—you’re cloning me?! Why?! First you avoid me, now you’re telling me you’re create more of me?’

                ‘For… personal reasons. I don’t see why it matters. You want to live, don’t you?’

                Optimus opened his non-existent mouth to speak, then stopped himself.

                ‘Listen, Optimus. You still need to exist. You’re a key that has yet to fill a lock. But you need to work quickly, before you disperse, and before your shell becomes… feral.’

                ‘Before it what?’

                ‘I’ve told you everything. This memory is over. You need to move.’

                ‘How?!’

                ‘It will be difficult, almost impossible, but if you focus, your spark will recognize that a living host exists. You must learn to control your movements. Carve your way through spark-space and return to your natural shell.’

                Optimus paused. ‘Is it really that simple?’

                ‘There’s nothing simple about it. Good luck, Optimus.’

                ‘Chromedome, wait!’

                But he was gone. Everything was gone. Nothing remained in Prime’s field of vision but the white canvas that sprawled out into infinity.

                Optimus tried to focus, and soon, through senses he never knew he had, he began to paint a picture with his mind. In moments, that picture began to form into something not of his volition. He felt himself become a shape of sorts, but the world was something else entirely.

\-----

Jazz made circles around Strika, dodging her fists and leaving massive craters in his wake.

                ‘Sit still, would ya? I can barely—oh forget it.’ She transformed into her tank-mode, turret homing in on Jazz’s figure. She opened fire, causing a trail of explosives to tear across Jazz’s path.

                ‘Not trying to fight back, eh?’ Blackarachnia slashed at Obsidian’s chest, sending him reeling backwards. He merely hovered in place, ignoring the blow he had taken. ‘Good. It just means I’ll kill you sooner.’ The massive spider slashed at him once more, sending him spiralling onto his back, black liquid leaking from the gash in his chest.

                A volley of firepower hit the spider’s side, singing her slightly. She turned her massive maw to find Thundercracker reloading his incendiary rifle. ‘Get away from him!’

                ‘YOU!’ She scuttled over to the blue seeker, shrugging off his weapons fire. She readied a blade, preparing to strike.

                ‘Get back!’ He continued firing from his rifle, though the massive creature seemed immune to it.

                Blackarachnia struck her blade, slicing through the air and coming into contact with flesh.

                Rather than cutting into Thundercracker, however, she had struck into Slipstream’s mid-section. The seeker had jumped in the way, defending Thundercracker but taking the hit in his place. The strike carved horizontally through her waist, bisecting her in two and sending upper half toppling into the ground below. Her upper half laid sprawled across the ground with her optics to the sky, Energon leaking from the gap where her waist used to be.

                ‘NO!’ Thundercracker roared, firing at the creature as it turned its attention towards him.

                Blackarachnia leaped at him, swiping a single stalk in his direction. Thundercracker attempted to block, but it did nothing. Her blade passed seamlessly through the arm wielding his rifle, and the limb went spinning into the air. As he yelled out in pain, Blackarachnia struck another stalk into his chest and pinning him to the ground.

                ‘Hurts?’ Blackarachmia sliced another stalk across Thundercracker’s chest, severing his other arm in the swipe. He screamed, and Blackarachnia felt a twitch in her neural processor. ‘We’ve barely gotten started! I’m going to kill you, Thundercracker, and I’m going to do it slowly, and I’m going to do it until your last thoughts are nothing short of complete regret and understanding over what you have done!’ She slashed at his legs, severing them, and rendering him completely limbless.

                Thundercracker tried to raise a servo, but realizing he had none, could only lift his head. ‘Please… I never wanted to…‘

                ‘Don’t even try!’ She dug her blade deeper into his torso. ‘I’m the crazed maniac, remember! I’m a mindless drone! I’m unreasonable! I kill because it gives me pleasure! I am doing this because I was born for it! I was born to kill!’

                Watching as she tortured the Seeker, Jazz transformed into his robot mode and called her. ‘Blackarachnia, chill out! You’ve got to—!‘

                She reared her massive maw to the lieutenant. ‘WHAT?!’

                ‘You’ve got to control yourself—!‘

                ‘Got you!’

                BANG. A blast from Strika’s cannons had blown a hole through Jazz’s lower chest. The Lieutenant stammered, coughed a splash of pink liquid, and collapsed. Arms splayed out in front of him upon the dusty ground.

                Her attention fixated on Blackarachnia, Strika charged forward, tank treads grinding the dirt. Chunks of wing lodged and dripping from her mandibles, Blackarachnia eyed Strika and leaped at her.

                In seconds the two bodies clashed, transforming and grappling each-other furiously. Blackarachnia stabbed through Strika’s Ununtrium plating, and in turn Strika smashed hers, causing cracks to ripple throughout her bestial skull.

                Strika began smashing her fist across Blackarachnia’s frame. ‘Dammit, I know you can force a transformation, but I can’t seem to find your—‘

                Blackarachnia stabbed through Strika’s chest, stalks reaching out the other side.

                Strika let out a roar and smashed Blackarachnia’s mid-section. In a bright flash, Blackarachnia reverted back to her robot-mode, electric sparks dancing across the ground.

                She could barely stand because of the energy discharge. She looked up just in time to see Strika’s fist crash against her helm.

                Ironhide blasted Starscream in the chest, causing the Decepticon Leader to fall back. Starscream grinned, and prepared to move forward again only to be blasted in the chest again, and again. Ironhide had never displayed this much stamina before. Ironhide fired once more, only this time the weight of the blast was too much, and Starscream fell onto his back. Before he could get back up, Ironhide landed on him, cracking his fist across the Emperor’s face.

                He roared. ‘YOU KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!’ A loud clang as fist met with his face. ‘YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!’ He whipped his fist across the face again, and again, ripping chunks of facial metals from his skull. ‘You couldn’t have just left us alone! You couldn’t have put your power-trip on hold for one minute, could you?!’ He wouldn’t stop punching; his knuckles wet with fluid. ‘I always looked to him. To Optimus. I’m already too far gone, but he wasn’t! He always knew what was right. That’s why I always asked him. I always asked him whether it was worth shooting. Of course, I always wanted to shoot whatever problem came our way, but he could actually make the distinction. He always knew the correct path.’ His cannons fully charged, Ironhide aimed them at the Decepticon Leader’s skull. It would be a swift execution. As swift as Megatron’s was. Starscream seemed to know this too. The Seeker merely stared up at him, eyes watching him lucidly. ‘But now that he’s gone I don’t _need_ to ask for his permission! It doesn’t matter any more what he’d have wanted! So burn in hell, Starscream!’ Ironhide prepared to take the shot. He froze. He felt as though he were choking. _What he’d have wanted._ Those words reverberated in Ironhide’s skull. ‘Shut up.’ _What he’d have wanted._ ‘SHUT UP!’ He couldn’t take the shot. It was only a single mental command to blow this Decepticon’s brains across the ground. So why couldn’t he take the shot? His arms dropped to his sides. His optics leaked wisps of sky-blue energy. ‘Why?’ He sobbed. ‘Why won’t it all… just shut up…’ He sat there for a time on the crumbling Seeker’s chest. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

                After a moments time, Ironhide felt a searing heat touch his shoulder, in seconds he was airborne. His body went flying a yard away from Starscream and landed, rolling in the dirt. One arm detached from his torso. Chunks of kibble and armour shattered off of him and bounced off the dirt. He was out in seconds.

                A hand was offered to Starscream, and the Aerospace Commander took it.

                ‘I see we made it just in time.’

                Starscream’s optics adjusted as soon as he was on his feet. ‘Soundwave.’

                The Former Lord Regent nodded, then gestured to the swirling green portal behind him. First the high rankers appeared. Ratbat, Roadblock, Sixshot, Hun-Grr, Carnivac, and Magnificus, then the rest. Tens of Decepticons native to New Kaon came flooding out of the Space-Bridge. Some armed, others just there to bear witness to the new Decepticon leader. At first, Starscream felt embarrassed having to appear in such a state to his new subjects, but upon closer observation, he had begun to recognize the look of fear and wonder on their faces. Starscream was covered in wounds. His exo-skull visible beneath the folds of his face. He was nearly falling apart. He had _seen_ action. He had experience. He looked terrifying. He loved it. _They,_ loved it. Among them were Gutcruncher and Charger.

                Starscream pointed lazily at the two. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be watching the Nemesis?’

                ‘We were,’ Gutcruncher said. ‘We were also watching your life-signs. We linked one of Trypticon’s portals to Soundwave’s space-bridge as soon as we realized something was wrong.’ He stared at the broken forms of Thundercracker, Slipstream, and Obsidian. They were wounded badly, but were alive nonetheless. Across from them, Strika was smashing Blackarachnia into the dirt. The General hadn’t seemed to notice the Decepticons’ presence.

                ‘Looks like you’ve got it under control,’ Gutcruncher muttered.

                Soundwave moved over to Starscream’s chest, reaching into the hole carved from Ironhide’s cannons.

                Starscream backed off. ‘Whoa, hold on n—,‘

                ‘Relax, Lord Starscream. I am tending to your wounds. The energy expenditure will be colossal, but the repair-ray I have in my possession should bring you back to functioning order.

                Starscream relaxed. ‘Ah, yes.’ The crowds of Decepticons had surrounded the new Decepticon Leader, observing him carefully. They were not to ask any questions until he had returned to working order. The barely living Autobots and Decepticons had been almost completely ignored. Even Strika could do little but guard Obsidian’s broken body.

                Flipsides had managed to squeeze through the crowd and into the center alongside Soundwave and Starscream. She saluted. ‘I did as you asked, Soundwave.’

                Soundwave didn’t respond. Strange, he mustn’t have heard her.

                ‘I… uh, succeeded in carrying out my orders.’

                ‘And?’

                Flipsides flinched, stared at her feet, then slowly backed into the crowd.

                Strika snorted at the scene. Starscream was clearly well enough to speak. He just, for the first time since forever, hadn’t anything to say. Strange… Strange. Strika looked down at Obsidian. He too appeared fully online, but was lying around for one reason or another. Obsidian the workaholic? Taking a nap? Preposterous! Strika watched Thundercracker and Slipstream. They were leaking out, and would probably die soon. Pity. She had come to like them. She’d call them friends if not for the fact that she refused to make any. She shrugged. Alas, that’s just how things worked in the Decepticon business. She looked up. What the hell was tha—

                A mass of digitized matter slammed into Strika’s chest. It hurt. Badly. ‘What?!’ it was a white beam of light, affecting the area of space around it. The space around the light appeared to have been “glitching”. As if the image itself has overlapped a thousand times. She traced the source of the blast to find a large, silver creature standing a yard away from her. It had massive claws and rows of jagged teeth. It stood with an ape-like posture as it glared at her. Golden eyes searing.

                ‘What are y—‘ The beam seemed to finally connect, and as soon as it did Strika fell offline.

                Her body went flying, crashing into the crowds of Decepticons and crushing a few beneath her weight.

                More or less healed, Starscream leaped to his feet. ‘What the hell is—‘

                The silver thing screamed, and a beam of white light tore through the crowds of Decepticons. Screams filled Starscream’s audio-receptors as a dozen or so Decepticons disintegrated into glitch-y matter. Starscream pointed at the creature, and shouted. It was nothing Starscream had ever seen before. It was constantly changing its form, maintaining a humanoid shape, but never deciding on a single face, chest or limb. From its arms shot beams of white, distorted matter that destroyed waves of Decepticons. ‘Decepticons!’ Starscream roared. ‘Whatever that thing is, I want it dead! That is your first order!’

                Some did charge, but they were the first to die. Those who were lucky escaped through the portal.

                Ratbat screeched as a beam tore out his wing. ‘Soundwave!’ he spat at the ground, it was littered with disintegrating bodies. Such a waste! ‘We need to retreat before we waste any more units fighting that thing! Worse, if we stay any longer we’ll _become_ that waste! We need to—‘

                But Soundwave was silent, staring blankly at the thing as it screamed. Ratbat realized that what he was looking at was Soundwave at his most vulnerable. Soundwave was terrified. Upon realizing the former Regent wouldn’t budge, Ratbat merely growled. ‘Suit yourself.’ He proceeded to flap weakly through the portal and to safety.

                Roadblock charged forward, laughing like a maniac. Carnivac barked at him to retreat, but it was too late. He was soon consumed in a blast of white light. Half of the Ground Forces Commander’s body had been ripped apart and disintegrating. The rest twitched and blinked in confused shock. ‘Someone drag him through the portal!’ Carnivac barked, firing bursts at the creature as it advanced. It did nothing. ‘In fact, drag _everyone_ through. Don’t leave any Decepticons behind!’

                Gutcruncher and Charger dove to the ground, avoiding the blasts of light with their chins to the ground.

‘You ever see anything like that before?’ Gutcruncher grumbled.

Charger shook his head, ‘Never.’ He frowned. ‘Isn’t Sixshot supposed to be here?’

                Gutcruncher spat out his Cy-Gar. ‘Yeah, where the hell is he?’

                Next to the portal, Hun-grr stared blankly at his servo. It was slowly disintegrating from a stray shot from the creature’s beam. ‘Hey, uh, Sixshot? You think we can retreat now?’

                Sixshot shook his head. ‘Go ahead. I want to watch this.’

                Hun-grr watched. Even the Mayhems had retreated. Those loyal were being torn apart by the creature’s blasts. It was only a matter of time before he joined them. And if he made it through the portal before it closed… ‘But at this rate that thing’s going to kill the entire Decepticon army!’

                He turned to the Terrorcon, optics blank. ‘What do you think I’m here for?’

                Hun-grr stared at him before backing into the portal. Alone, Sixshot tore into the sky, planning to get a bird-eye-view of the carnage.

                Starscream fired at the thing with what little fire-power he had. Unfortunately, there appeared to have been a force-field of some sorts protecting the silver-creature, and any bullets or missiles that rocketed towards it were soon deflected. Anyone who wasn’t dead or lying in stasis had escaped through the portal, and now only Starscream and Soundwave remained. The two stood firing all they had at the thing, whilst simultaneously dodging its beams of light.

                ‘You should retreat,’ Soundwave muttered, landing face-first into the dirt.

                ‘Somebody needs to stay behind,’ Starscream replied, landing into a crouch, and firing his null-ray at the thing. ‘It will take time before the space-bridge powers off, and if that thing gets through, all of New Kaon will be at risk.’

                Soundwave merely nodded. Starscream was more selfless than he let on.

                ‘And why haven’t you left with the others?’ Starscream asked.

                ‘I’m here to protect the future Leader of the Decepticons, obviously.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘I’m apparently the only one left to do so.’

                ‘The ones who haven’t abandoned me are either dead or dying.’ Starscream snarled. ‘Go figure.’

                They dodged to the side as another beam of distorted light shot from the creature’s arms.

                ‘Our firepower isn’t working.’ Soundwave said.

                ‘No, really? Any other bright observations you’d like to make, genius?’

                ‘We might be able to harm it with hand-to-hand-contact.’

                Starscream growled. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

                Soundwave stared at him. ‘Your orders, Lord Starscream.’

                Starscream shut his optics. ‘Fine.’ He kicked the ground, breaking into a sprint towards the thing. ‘Give it everything you’ve got!’


	60. What is Deserved

It was like he was in a dream. Navigating through spark-space was like nothing Prime had ever experienced. The world was warped and crooked. Buildings stood upside down or on angles. Vanishing points creating spirals of solid matter. The sky rolling like it did on Viafinis. He was getting closer. Bizarre creatures flew across the sky. Long, bat-winged organisms with skin the texture of brain-matter screeched across the horizon. Giant worms dug through the ground, rising up to catch a breath before plunging into the deep once more. Music echoed from nowhere in low ambient drawls, and faceless bodies wandered unperturbed across the great plains. He wasn’t sure how any of this manifested. What he was experiencing was either a product of his own subconscious, or perhaps even a manifestation of the collective conscious, the belief that all minds were connected by thin, cerebral threads. Every living thing came from stardust, and every Cybertronian came from the galactic fluid of space itself. Regardless, they were all connected to the universe in one way or another.

                -----

                Starscream’s saw-blade cut through the creatures beams, only for said beams to regenerate on the spot. Cursing, the seeker dodged backward and activated his thrusters. ‘Try this!’ Two beams of blue light carved into the creature before spiraling in place and shooting into the sky above. It did nothing to the thing, but kept it busy long enough for Soundwave to drop-kick its mid-section, sending it tumbling onto the ground, writhing in agony. Starscream boosted forward, sawblade buzzing. He placed his foot on the creature’s chest, pinning it to the ground as he aimed his blade. Striking at the neck, the creature let out a howl, and ripped Starscream’s leg away from his chest. The Seeker was flung onto the ground, rising just in time to be hammered in the gut by one of the creature’s powerful arms. The creature rose and roared again, slowly and disjointedly advancing as Starscream backed away on his knees. Soundwave in turn transformed into his Cybertronian truck form, accelerating forward and ramming into the creature’s hip, knocking it back onto the ground where it writhed once more. In truck mode, Soundwave rolled forward, driving over the creature’s body, before backing up once more and crunching its head beneath his wheels. The creature appeared to play dead for a moment before screaming, rising to its feet, and lifting Soundwave’s up by the wheels, and holding him high above its constantly shifting helm. With a mighty throw, it sent Soundwave hurtling and transforming through the air before landing hard into a rock-face next to the massive crevice, chunks of armour falling from his body. Before the creature could finish him off, Starscream dashed at him, swiping his saw-blade at the creature, causing it to recoil in pain. Soundwave fisted the ground, lifting himself to his feet before charging at the thing once more.

\-----

Optimus journeyed up a large mountain of scrap metal, body moving at a snail’s pace. The spark-space was wide and varied. Fields of eyes stretched beneath Prime’s feet. Oceans of Energon flowed upward like a reverse waterfall into the contradictory sky above. Land curved up and outward into impossible shapes. Disks of light emerged from multiple suns and multiple stars. He could see leviathans and black swarms of humanoid insects battling in the distance. It didn’t even seem that bizarre to him anymore. He tried to transform, but failed. When he looked down he could only make out a sort-of-shape. Something humanoid, but devoid of detail or colour. He could make himself walk, however, regardless of how strange it felt to do so. Above, a mechanical harpy played a violin, creating melodies that made Prime’s spark sing. He ignored it and trudged on, unsure of where he was going, or where it was he needed to be. He continued his journey, knowing full well that he needed to find himself as soon as possible.

In no time at all, Optimus had reached the top of the hill. There he found dozens of identical figures. Battered and bruised, they had the faces of Megatron.

They turned to him, all of them. ‘We were supposed to come back.’

‘We never did.’

‘There’s too many of us.’

‘There are too many of us for the Allspark to hold at once.’

‘It hates knock-offs.’

Optimus frowned at them. It hadn’t occurred to him, what part of him would actually exist in this new clone. What memories he still had in his spark were faint. His main housing of conscious was his brain module, and that was gone. Was he going to be reborn? Or was he merely acting as a transplant for a newer, younger Optimus. One with all his memories, and his spark to boot. He asked the Megatrons: ‘Which one of you was the one who recommended I carry a bigger gun?’

                But they only stared at him, each as confused as the last.

                Optimus frowned. ‘So none of you… you _hallucinations,_ are even the same hallucination as the one that’s been pestering me all this time?’

                They stared and blinked.

                Optimus massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘Great, just as I thought I was about to make sense of—,’

                When he opened his eyes, he was back in the canvas of white. Before him laid a small coffin. ‘—this.’ He approached the coffin, placing the palm of his hand firmly on its lid. It was true, he realized. He was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. Chromedome wanted a new Optimus. One to take his place, for whatever reason. His servos were shaking. He was dead, and what was worse, someone else was going to continue off from where he started. They would have his spark, his personality, his memories, but he wasn’t _this_ Optimus. He wasn’t the Optimus who was conscious of his own demise. He wasn’t the Optimus who was a severed head lying in the dirt.

                Wiping his optics, Optimus slowly began to lift the lid of the coffin. _Ironhide, Blackarachnia, Jazz, Prowl, Rodimus, Chromia, Elita... I love you all._

\-----

The screens across Soundwave’s chest shattered, blue glass crinkling against the dirt floor. He held his sparkling chest, looking up only for the creature to whip its balled fist across his visor, shattering it and much of his faceplate. The creature was struggling. Starscream had landed on its back, strangling it and cursing up a storm as it spun around on his pedes. Soundwave observed the creature closely. Truthfully, he had planned to retreat as soon as the creature killed Starscream and work out a way to stop it from there. He didn’t care to protect Starscream, not really. He only wanted to observe the thing a while longer. If it was what he thought it was, then it meant _they_ were up to something. Just as he thought they had given up, the “Kimians” were still trying to reach that impossible goal. Which would mean that Optimus—that they _thought_ , Optimus…

 His plans would need to accelerate.

                Grabbing hold of Starscream’s collar, the creature tossed the Seeker over his shoulder and smashed him into the dirt. Stuck in place, Starscream could only watch as the thing charged its arm beams. It was a shame, Soundwave thought. He had spent so much time trying to build up Starscream. Perhaps he could use Thundercracker or Strika instead. Still—

                Something went wrong. The creature let out a scream, claws reaching to its constantly shifting skull. Distorted electricity surged across its head and chest. It fell to its knees, trembling and shifting at faster rates.

                Starscream picked himself up. ‘It’s changing—it’s transforming into something! It’s turning into a—!’

                It finished its transformation, taking the form of…

                ‘A trailer.’ Starscream turned to Soundwave, disappointed. ‘It turned into some kind of… truck trailer.’

                Soundwave squinted at it. ‘I see.’ Cautiously, he stepped towards the trailer, examining it with intense scrutiny.

                Starscream clapped his hands. ‘Well would you look at that! We won!’ He slapped Soundwave on the back, jerking him forward slightly. ‘We should team up more often! Hahah, just kidding. I’d rather not.’

                ‘We should take it with us. Have Flatline, or Scalpel take a look at it.’

                Starscream scoffed, then shouted. ‘Strika!’

                The large Decepticon bolted up, awake. ‘Hah?’

                ‘Help me laugh at Soundwave!’

                She pointed at the communications officer. ‘Hah!’

                Starscream grinned at the former regent. ‘We almost died trying to keep this thing out of New Kaon, you want to bring it in?’

                ‘St—my Lord, it is imperative we bring this… specimen in for study. Not only could it be used to our benefit, but we can also find out where it came from and who might have sent it. Someone could be trying to start a war with us, Starscream. Listen to me—‘

                ‘No, you listen to _me!_ I am the new Lord of the Decepticons, not you. I am not about to endanger the lives of my subjects for the sake of some science experiment. Take the trailer somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, but that thing is not taking step inside my city. I am the Lord of the—,’

                ‘YOU?!’

                The two Decepticons turned to find Charger storming towards hem. Gutcruncher followed him, awkwardly, he had suffered minor wounds, while Charger seemed to be in perfect condition. The two had been playing dead the entire time. Charger struck a digit at Starscream’s chest. ‘You are _not_ the Lord of the Decepticons.’

                Starscream only shrugged, and jabbed a thumb at the communications officer. ‘Take it up with him.’

                Soundwave stared at Charger. ‘What are you talking about, Charger?’

                ‘Yes, what _are_ you talking about, Charger?’ Gutcruncher placed a hand on his SIC’s shoulder. ‘This is the first I’m hearing of any of this.’

                Charger slapped at Gutcruncher’s servo. ‘Don’t touch me! I swear to the power of the Elder-God if you touch me again I’ll kill you!’

Gutcruncher flinched.

‘Soundwave!’ Charger screamed. ‘I know what you did! I know the bounty was of your own machination!’

                Soundwave cocked his head to the side. ‘What could have possibly brought you to such a conclusion? What might I have gained from creating an election whereas I am not a participant?’

                ‘You know full well what you gain! You’re doing this to prevent Optimus from becoming the rightful leader of the Decepticons!’

                Starscream laughed, and began twirling a digit next to his head. ‘Wow, talk about off your rocker.’

                Soundwave only stared.

                Charger pointed across the field at Obsidian’s stasis-locked body. ‘Obsidian told me everything! He told me all about Prime’s legal right, and yet he failed! He failed and let him die!’

                Gutcruncher grabbed him by the shoulder once more. ‘Look, Charger, I think you need to calm down. Let’s just head back to New Kaon and—,’

                Charger whipped himself around, pulling out an Energon knife and plunging it deep into Gutcruncher’s chest.

                Starscream and Soundwave took wide steps back in shock and disgust, while Gutcruncher merely stared in disbelief. Energon spilled from his lower jaw. ‘Charger—why?!’

                ‘I TOLD YOU!’ Charger stabbed him in the throat this time, stabbing again and again. ‘I TOLD YOU I’D KILL YOU IF YOUR TOUCHED ME, YOU PETULANT SLAG!’

                Gutcruncher’s knees gave in, he fell to the ground. ‘Charger… I saved your life… I thought we were fr— ‘

                ‘I don’t want your friendship!’ Charger slashed the knife across Gutcruncher’s throat once more, ending his speech. For a split second, he brought his face close, and began lapping up the spilling liquids. Swallowing Gutcruncher’s spilt Energon in gulps. ‘If you’re going to be any use to me, you can at least provide me with some energy.’

                Starscream stepped back in revulsion. ‘Whoooaaakay, Soundwave. I think we have a problem here, do you think you can—,’

                Soundwave had already aimed his shoulder-cannon to fire, and a barrage of missiles erupted towards the mathematician. Charger transformed into his car mode, swerving out of the way of the blast and transforming once more, firing a blast from his rifle and blowing apart the tip of Soundwave’s cannon, causing the communications officer to reel back as smoke bellowed from the barrel, rendering it defunct. Charger stopped before the trailer, his back turned to it. He pointed down at it as he faced the others. ‘Now I don’t know what the hell this _thing_ is, or what any of you are planning, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the true Decepticon leader is dead, and his murderers are standing right in front of me!’

                Starscream shrugged. ‘That was two things, actually.’

                ‘Shut up!’ Hidden weaponry appeared across Charger’s frame. Now that you’re here, and there’s nobody left to stop me, I can kill every last one of you!’

                Starscream stared at him, grimly. ‘You sure you want to try that?’

                ‘You’re practically falling apart! Both of you! While I, on the other hand, are in perfect condition!’

                Starscream lowered his guard. He was right.

                Movement shifted behind Charger. ‘First I’ll kill the two of you—the _fakes_. Then I’ll kill the rest of you…’ He looked over their shoulders at Strika, she was sitting up, lazily. ‘Strika…’ He looked over at Obsidian, his dead eyes staring at him. ‘Obsidian…’ He looked over at the stasis-locked bodies of Thundercracker and Slipstream, both leaking out. ‘The Seekers…’ He looked at the rest of them. Ironhide, Blackarachnia and Jazz. They were all awake now. Watching helplessly on their sides. ‘And the Autobots, too! I’ll even finish what you’ve started!’

                He aimed a rifle at Starscream, the movement behind him increasing. ‘I’ll kill every last one of you that stood in the Combaticons’ way! I’ll kill you until I get my Optimus! I’ll dominate the galaxy in your place until I get my Optimus! But that’s not going to happen, is it, Starscream?! Oh I’ll dominate the galaxy alright, but I want my Optimus! Where’s my Optimus!’

                A throat cleared.

                Charger turned around. The silver creature was standing upright; it’s features no longer shifting uncontrollably. It had taken a form similar, if not exactly like that of the late Optimus Prime. The only difference being the black and silver color-scheme replacing the old red and blue. The Optimus beamed at him, then at the jaw-dropped faces of Starscream, Soundwave, and his team.

The Optimus cleared his throat once more. ‘Hello!’ He leaped into a striking pose, singing to the sky. ‘Is it me you’re looking for~!’

                Silence.

                Optimus lowered his arms to his sides. ‘You know… I get the feeling I’m not as good at singing as I remember.’

                Charger aimed his rifle at the Prime. ‘You--! What are you!’ He pulled the trigger, but Optimus was too quick. The Prime grabbed the rifle and ripped it out of his line of sight. It fired, lightly singeing his newly formed antenna.

                Charger tried to wrestle it away from him, but Optimus was stronger, he pulled the rifle from the Decepticon’s grip and tossed it aside. ‘Nobody’s killing anyone else today…’ Optimus clenched his fist and punched Charger across his face. He prepared another strike, and made contact once more. Charger fired a beam from a torso cannon, but Optimus was quick enough to dodge, he struck Charger again with several quick jabs. It was as if he were a boxer, striking his opponent several times in the head before ducking his returning shots. ‘And you are sure as hell not dominating this galaxy…’ His jabs sped up, to the point where Optimus had made a punching bag out of the Decepticon. The rate of his fists increased further, and he was pulling off five jabs per second. ‘You know why?’ He let out a roar as he struck Charger’s chest, breaking apart his weaponry. ‘BECAUSE FREEDOM IS THE RIGHT OF ALL SENTIENT BEINGS!’ He struck him over and again, his fists a blur. Chunks of green armour exploded off the mathematician, glass cracked and smoke spilled from his wounds. He struck him repeatedly, until finally, Charger’s arms dropped to their sides, and his whole body went limp. Optimus spun around in the air, delivering a roundhouse kick to his chest and sending him toppling to the ground. Charger hit the ground hard, his optics fading to grey, his body twitching only momentarily before falling into stasis.

Optimus withdrew his faceplate, nodding to Starscream and Soundwave as he passed between them. ‘Gentlemen.’ He passed by Obsidian, glaring down at him with knowing optics.

The strategist, awake and aware, had realized for certain that this was indeed the same Optimus. Somehow, this was the same Optimus that agreed to his terms. How, he did not know, but he could recognize the look in the Prime’s eyes. No, the true Lord’s eyes. _What is he thinking?_ Obsidian wondered to himself.

Optimus stopped before his team. They were staring at him blankly. He watched Blackarachnia as she rose clumsily to her feet. He spoke to her first, ‘Hey Blackarachnia. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I mean it this time. I care about what you think and I care about you. You don’t have to forgive me—I just want us to be okay again. I know it might be asking for a lot, but…’ he looked back at Charger’s stasis-locked body. ‘Say, am I wrong, or was that the first time I ever beat a Decepticon in a fair, one-on-one fight?’

Blackarachnia leaped at him, hugging him around his mid-section.

Eyes wide, Optimus stared down at the ex-Decepticon before slowly patting her on the back. ‘Er… what did I do to deserve…’

Jazz grabbed him by the shoulder, squeezing him hard. ‘We thought you were dead…’ He beamed up at him. ‘You… aren’t dead, are you? This is really happening right now, isn’t it?’

Optimus nodded. ‘I—yeah. This is me. I can explain everything that’s happened to bring me back—and it’s a little confusing—but, yeah, this is me. This is—’

‘OPTIMUS!’

The Prime looked up to find Ironhide charging him, his arms spread wide. ‘Ironh—,’

Ironhide’s fist crashed against his face, knocking him to the ground. Blackarachnia and Jazz, still latched on to his torso, went down with him. ‘I probably deserve that.’

On the ground, Ironhide struck him again, then wrapped his arms around him with the others.

‘I appreciate the dog-pile, guys.’ Optimus wriggled on the ground. ‘But can I maybe get up?’

‘No,’ Blackarachnia said.

‘Ah.’ On his back, and under the weight of his comrades, Optimus stared at the rolling red sky above. ‘What did I do to deserve all of this?’ He’d probably never get an answer, considering the hand life had dealt him. _But still…_ he thought, _this is nice._

Soundwave began to murmur something under his breath, then stopped. If they were truly behind this, and if they assumed Optimus had what they thought he had, then the “Kimians”, as they called themselves, would need to be prevented at all costs. He almost grabbed his concussion rifle and eviscerated the happy reunion in an instant. But then, knowing them—knowing the “Kimians”—they would have set a precedent. If he killed Optimus now, that _thing_ would no doubt reawaken and kill everything in sight. Could they have really created such a weapon, strictly as an incentive against Soundwave’s meddling? It certainly sounded like them. Booby-trapping a Prime in order to use him to their own benefits. It was a plan worthy of Megatron.

                ‘This isn’t right,’ Starscream had been shaking his head. ‘He’s not dead… which means I haven’t won anything.’

                ‘That’s true. Partially,’ Soundwave said. He then pointed at the severed head lying in the dirt away from him. ‘But you fulfilled the bounty. You did kill Optimus. He may have returned from death, but you still fulfilled the quota. Optimus was “killed”, that is enough.’

                Starscream frowned. ‘What does it matter if I “killed” him if he’s still standing alive and well? What’s any of it matter if things are the exact same as when I started? How am I deserving of the title if everything I’ve done was for naught?’

                Soundwave stared at him. ‘I believe the real question you should be asking yourself, Starscream…’ he leaned in towards the former Aerospace Commander, speaking in a whisper. ‘is who the hell cares?’ He leaned back. ‘We should retreat. Let these Autobots enjoy this… personal victory of theirs. There has been enough bloodshed for today.’

                Starscream nodded vigorously. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Strika!’

                She was already on her feet. ‘What’s up?’

                ‘You can carry the others, can’t you? There’s… one, two, three… four of them, I believe. Thundercracker, Slipstream, Obsidian, and Charger. The rest should be dead.’

                Strika was looming over Gutcruncher’s body. ‘I think some of these guys are still alive Should we bring them, too? Or would it be less time-consuming to leave them be in peace?’

                Starscream closed his eyes. ‘Sod it.’ He walked over and grabbed Gutcruncher, lifting the massive Decepticon over his shoulder. ‘You carry our people; I’ll carry any others that still have a chance at living.’

                Shocked, Strika watched as Starscream proceeded to carry more and more of the wounded, his wounded arms snapping from the weight. Starscream shot her a glance to say “get your ass moving” and she did just that, picking up Obsidian first.

                In time, the three had gathered up anyone still intact, and were moving in through the portal. Soundwave glanced at Optimus briefly before passing through. Strika held out a small green Decepticon with one hand. ‘You sure you want to take Charger? The little guy kind of tried to kill us.’

                ‘I’m worried I’m wrong about him. I’m worried he’s not completely insane. I want him interrogated when we get back to New Kaon. But if it so happens that we’re out of space in the medical ward…’ he nodded to her, ‘you know who to get rid of first.’

                She nodded, and passed through.

                Carrying five Decepticons at once, some nearly as large as him, Starscream quivered under the weight. Briefly, he looked back at Optimus, just as the Prime was rising to his feet with the others. He shouted. ‘Prime!’

                They stared at him, preparing for a fight.

                Starscream raised his fist above his head and nodded. ‘Good game.’ With that, he passed through the portal with the others.

                Ironhide gruffed. ‘He’s lucky to be alive…’

                Blackarachnia smirked in his direction. ‘Anyone who ever bumped shoulders with you is lucky to be alive.’

                Ironhide thought about this for a moment, then nodded. ‘Basically, yeah.’

                ‘That wasn’t a compliment.’

                Optimus wandered towards the severed head in the dirt, crouching next to it and gazing into its empty optical sockets. He felt the need to mourn. As he knew it, the person he was right now was not the Optimus he was a moment ago. His spark carried just enough of his conscious to fill in the memory between when he got pricked by Mindwipe and when he visited the spark-space. But he knew, the first Optimus, the real Optimus, was dead. The person he forever knew himself as was now dead, and it, in truth, hurt him. Unlike most spark transplants, Optimus had the benefit of obtaining his own spark to power his knew brain, instead of using the ethically questionable donor method. Aged sparks that were used to being connected to a different brain module often caused personality altering elements to the restored Cybertronian, and the concept of using freshly spawned sparks was often considered the involuntary sacrifice of potential life to save another. Personality wise, and memory wise, it was still him, nothing had changed, but he knew he was not the first. Not the original. He silently mourned the Optimus he was. The Optimus who had died. He felt nothing toward the fact that he was a clone, a copy, but he was afraid it would soon sink in, and that was something he was simply not ready for. He turned to the others. ‘I’ll tell you guys everything that happened on the way back to the Ark. It’ll be a lot to swallow, but I’ll try to explain it the best I can.’

They nodded, and Jazz pointed at the head lying in the dirt. ‘So, uh, Chief… what do you think we should do with the—I mean your… _head_?’

                Optimus looked at it again and shivered. Something about his former “head” put him off. It had the same features and adornments he had known all his life, and yet there it was, as dead as night. ‘I’m sure as hell not touching it,’ he turned to Jazz. ‘If you guys want to take it with you, be my guest, but you know…’ he stared at it again. ‘Maybe this is a good resting place for him.’

                ‘For him?’ Blackarachnia said.

                ‘For me. You know what I mean,’ he scratched the back of his head. ‘This is kind of freaking me out. I’d appreciate it if we all got the slag out of here.’

                They all agreed on that.

                As they transformed to leave, Optimus froze in his vehicle mode. He was still a trailer. ‘Ah crap, I’m going to need to scan a new form once we get back.’

                Blackarachnia hopped on top Ironhide’s vehicle mode, ‘Sucks to be you, then. See, I’ve never had wheels, and I’ve been just peachy.’

                Optimus transformed and walked over to Ironhide. ‘There should be room for one more, right?’

                ‘Oh no.’ Ironhide revved his engine. ‘There’s no way in hell I’m carrying the both of you! Hell, I never asked to carry Blackarachnia in the first place!’

                ‘Suck it up,’ Optimus said, draping his leg over the back-side of Ironhide’s vehicle mode behind Blackarachnia. He pointed charismatically forward. ‘Ironhide, roll out!’

                The weapons specialist only grumbled as he accelerated ahead. Jazz chuckled as he accelerated along next to them. ‘Never a dull moment with you guys, is there?’

                After they had gone, and silence returned to the once untouched planet, Sixshot swooped down, landing amidst the bodies of several unlucky Decepticons. ‘Well, that was something.’ He walked over to the Primes severed head as it collected dust on the ground. He picked it up and raised it to his face, for amusement’s sake. ‘Alas, poor Prime. I knew him…’ He considered what he had witnessed. Optimus didn’t seem to have access to the power his body beheld, but he knew that whatever created it, whatever could control it, would be a suitable source of adrenaline for him indeed. Sixshot hated to consider himself a thrill seeker, nor did he like to think of him as an unstoppable warrior on a quest for a worthy opponent. He considered himself empty, only really alive when faced with the threat of death. Maybe he really _was_ a thrill seeker, or maybe death just fascinated him as someone who had been born virtually without its inevitability. He wanted to see for himself what Optimus could do, and now that he knew, he would have to further seek him out; to take Optimus on at his best. He put it on his mental to-do list and prepared to fly off back to New Kaon to assure the Terrorcons he had made it back okay, not that there would have been any doubt.

What?

Did he just see a—was that a flicker of—

He clenched the head in his hand, whispering softly. ‘Are you really…’

He chuckled, shoved the head into his chest compartment, transformed, and exploded into the sky. He passed seamlessly through the aggressive weather and arrived into outer space, albeit covered in dents and scrapes. Prime’s head remained as still as stone in his cockpit. Sixshot laughed at the thousands of stars and infinite space around him and beyond. A night sky that surrounded him from all directions as he tore through the galaxy.

The night was _alive._

\-----

                After several attempts at boosting its engine, the Ark finally managed to rise out of the rubble, hovering above the broken crevice silently and still. Optimus winced as he activated the warp function, but in seconds, the Ark had transported itself out of the planet’s predatory shell and into a distant quadrant of the galaxy. Optimus had been left alone to scan himself a new vehicle mode from the Ark’s databanks. It was essentially the same form as his old one, though it felt heavier to him. Larger. The newer model was fitted with some increased engine density and had a higher kick in the acceleration department. It would take some getting used to. His colours remained a darker black and silver, with splashes of red in fewer places, not that it really mattered to him. He felt different, too. Like he was a new mech entirely. Part of him hoped he was. On the way to the Ark, Jazz had explained to him what had occurred while he was in the spark-space, and after having been convinced that the Decepticon deaths were not his fault, Optimus attempted to recreate the prowess his body had previously exercised. He failed. However, while Jazz explained to him everything that occurred in the land of the living, Optimus had intentionally left out much of his own story. For starters, he told them that Obsidian and Thundercracker had teamed up against him, completely ignoring the prospect of him being the true leader of the Decepticons, something he questioned he even wanted anymore. Secondly, he had completely omitted his conversation with Chromedome, implying that it was Mindwipe himself who explained his status to him. If they knew he was looking for Chromedome, they would surely worry about his current state of mind, and he didn’t want that. Lastly, he feigned ignorance towards Mindwipe’s motivations, completely omitting his connection to Chromedome: _The Chosen One._

                Having washed, rested, and refueled, Optimus called the group onto the main bridge to discuss future matters. They arrived within a minute.

                Blackarachnia waved a claw to Optimus as she entered, Ironhide begrudgingly following alongside her. ‘So! What’s the dealio, my boss-man? What’s our game-plan now?’

                Optimus, standing upon his podium, nodded in her direction. ‘For now, who knows? I figure our next step involves reporting back to Chromia. We failed in our mission for her, but hey, we’re alive aren’t we?’

                Jazz nodded, unsurely. ‘What about the cons? Now that the bounty’s been fulfilled, can we really assume they’ll stop coming for us? I know it should be a no-brainer, but still…’

                Optimus shook his head. ‘I don’t trust Starscream to leave any loose ends untied. Knowing him he’s going to want me dead if just to even the score.’

                Ironhide grunted. ‘And he’s got an entire army to do it for him.’

                The four stood in momentary silence. Blackarachnia put her claws behind her head. ‘Well, sourpusses, I think we should have a celebration! I bet Chromia’s got the bottles—we should throw a party at her place! Everyone’s invited. Who’s with me?’

                Jazz raised his hand. ‘I’d be down for that. You know, people say I’m a genius when it comes to this kind of stuff! I could pick out the tunes, and the decorations, and I know just the right mix of substances to give your engine a real kick in the—’

                Blackarachnia waved a claw in his directions. ‘Oh, I forgot to mention, when I said everyone’s invited, I meant to say everyone’s invited except _you._ Oooh, sorry buddy. No shady operatives allowed. Man, that must _suck!_ Better luck next year I guess.’

                Jazz shrugged. ‘Eh, I can attest to that.’

                Optimus brought a servo to his chin, completely ignorant to the exchange. ‘There’s also Prowl. He’s no doubt still out there looking to take me in… so it looks like we won’t be able to move back onto the grid just yet.’

                Ironhide grunted in agreement. ‘That’s our plan, then? Hole up at Chromia’s before continuing our aimless drift across the galaxy?’ He shrugged. ‘Works for me.’

                Optimus grinned down at them. He raised an invisible glass and pretended to tap it with a spoon. ‘Ding. Ding. Ding! Raise your imaginary glasses, team—because we can’t afford real ones—today we make a toast to bright futures and close saves!’

                They stared at him.

                He lowered his arms. ‘Come on guys, I _died._ Can you not humor me for just one second? Is that too much to ask?’

                Ironhide was the first to raise his imaginary glass. ‘To bright futures and close saves!’

                Blackarachnia and Jazz raised their imaginary glasses. ‘To bright futures and close saves!’

                Flipsides raised her imaginary glass as well. ‘To bright futures and close saves.’

                The four Autobots stared at the Decepticon.

                The spy stared back at them, beaming brightly. ‘Hey guys, guess who came back!’

                Optimus snapped his fingers. ‘Ironhide, lock her up.’

                The weapons specialist cracked his knuckles. ‘With pleasure.’

                In seconds, Flipsides was tackled to the ground, a pair of stasis-cuffs locked around her wrists. ‘Ah, hell. I can’t blame you for this. Just handle me lightly, would you? I’m a sweet, small, delicate—OW!’

                Ironhide had squeezed dents into her shoulder as he walked her to the brig. ‘Sorry.’

                Blackarachnia chased after them. ‘Aww, man. You’re not going to lock her in my room, are you? Ironhide? Ironhide?!’

                Optimus watched them leave as Jazz took his side. The Lieutenant spoke. ‘I reckon Chromia’ll know what to do with her.’

                ‘I hope so. The co-ordinates are set. I just need to…’ He frowned.

                ‘What’s the matter, chief? New body giving you aches?’

                ‘It’s not that.’ He paused. ‘I think I’m hearing voices.’

                Jazz was taken aback. ‘You _sure_ you’re alright?’

                ‘No, yeah, it’s just…’

                _‘The voices aren’t mine, are they?_ ’ Megatron whispered into his audio receptor.

                ‘No, they aren’t, it’s just…’

                Jazz cocked his head to the side. ‘I’m beginning to think you need some sleep, Prime. I can’t blame you, it’s been a _really_ long day.’

                Optimus nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jazz.’

                The lieutenant made a salute and turned to the door. ‘Sweet dreams, chief.’

                ‘Yeah…’

                Alone. Optimus collapsed into his chair. Megatron watched him from across the room, seeming just as interested in his current state as he was. A voice, spoke in Prime’s head, one he had never heard before. It was faint and staticy, and was so quiet it could have easily been non-existent.

                ‘Help,’ it said.

\-----

                It had been a full day since his ascension to Leader. Starscream sat in the dark of New Kaon’s citadel. He was in a waiting room of sorts, waiting for the moment he was to be presented to the rest of the universe. A large purple emblazoned cloak draped over his body, concealing everything below his neck. Upon his head was a golden crown, a symbol for future Decepticon leadership. It would all be removed by the end of the day, but it felt silly nonetheless. He once dreamed of holding such a position, of wearing such adornments, and yet he felt extremely uncomfortable just thinking about it.

                Soundwave had entered the room.

                ‘My Lord,’ he said, closing the door behind him. The screens and disks of light across Soundwave’s frame illuminated him in the dark. ‘It is time.’

                Starscream nodded, and rose. His new body was suitably large. Stylistically the same as his last, but with an added bulk to give him the look of a true Emperor. He was still barely taller than Soundwave, however, who had almost always been his equal for as long as he could remember. Soundwave guided him down the bright halls of the citadel, passed saluting guards and watchful security cameras. He could hear the voices of thousands beyond the walls. They were approaching the recreated gladiatorial stadium he had embarrassed himself in so long ago.

                ‘I had corroborated several stories in the media to erase your previous dissent, and to give further meaning to your ambitions. You are described as bold, contemporary—you are admired by a great many, Starscream.’

                _Why?_

                ‘You are to address your fellow Decepticons and put to rest any fears they may have. You have seen the common criticisms; I assume? Regardless I uploaded everything you’ll need to your neo-cortex. You need only tell your speech, and address any concerns. They will be minor, I assure you. If there is anything else you need, please let me know.’

                ‘What about Thundercracker?’

                Soundwave’s visor squinted. ‘I’m sorry?’

                ‘Thundercracker. He got hurt yesterday. Is he alright?’

                He paused. ‘The Seekers that served you. Affirmative, Thundercracker and Slipstream are both functional and receiving top medical care. I understand you have made Thundercracker your new Aerospace Commander, and as such he is being treated as such. Skywarp has been successfully dislodged from the Nemesis as well, and should be on his feet as we speak. Obsidian has also been functional for some time. However, I would advise you not to think about such trivialities at the moment.’

                Starscream nodded slowly as they approached the end of the hall.

                ‘Now, Lord Starscream, allow me to present you to your subjects.’

                The doors parted, and Starscream was exposed to a bright light. Outside, Kaon Stadium had been filled to the brim with thousands upon thousands of Decepticons. Bodies scrambling over each-other in their seats, trying to get a good look at their new leader. The one to kill the Prime. The one to avenge Megatron. They cheered as Starscream entered the center field, his cloak bellowing behind him. Strika stood nearby, arms folded and nodding in his direction. As he took the center, the screams of the many Decepticons rose a pitch. They were here… for _him._ Starscream could scarcely believe it himself. Confetti rained form above, horns trumpeted from his rear. He was officially the new leader of the Decepticons. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. He whispered. ‘I don’t deserve this.’

                Soundwave stood obediently next to him, barely paying any attention to the spectacle around him. Strika waved eagerly to the crowds.

                They began chanting; ‘HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!’ Over and again. The trumpets matching their rhythm in loud bursts of symphony and sound.

                ‘I don’t deserve this.’ He repeated to himself, arm emerging from his cloak. Starscream rose his fist to the sky.

                The crowd’s cheers evolved into screams of delight, loud and wicked.

New Kaon would never sleep again.

               

               

 

               

 

 

               

 


	61. Headaches

_“Was it last night I held your hand? Orchestrina that cuts my wrists. In clouds in the clouds I ride. Lacing the sulfur in rain.”_

                Music drifted throughout the halls of Kolkular. A mere hum in the main lobby, the percussion and lyrics became more clear as one walked through the fortress’s winding halls.

_“Valerian father. Rhododendron, you cloak me in the haunt of the beast I must slay. Casting the circle and under the nights you shame. There is blood from the smelter that stains.”_

                Working one’s way past the dozen walls of security and surveillance, the music could be heard in its highest quality and its greatest clarity. In the throne-room, and head office of the Decepticon Emperor, the music was at its loudest, playing as the Decepticon Supreme Commander sat perched in his throne. Scowling.

_“Was it last night I held your hand? Orchestrina that cuts my wrists. In clouds in the clouds I—,”_

                With a clap of the Emperor’s hands, the music came to an abrupt stop. Sick of it, Starscream rose to his feet. Guards aligning the circumference of the room stared at him through the corner of their optics, but never at him directly. They were wary. Decepticon leaders tended to be unpredictable. What that meant for them depended on their mood. From the moment Starscream had backed himself into the throne, he did not seem to be in a good one. Starscream pressed a button on the arm of his chair, and spoke. ‘Patch me in to Strika.’

                ‘Yes, my Lord,’ The AI replied, voice jagged and lifeless.

                Grand Admiral Strika had since taken up the role of Ground Forces Commander thanks to her role in assisting Starscream come to power, and as such the General now spent much of her time in the barracks. She had gone on one assignment in the short amount of time between Starscream’s coronation and then, and predictably it ended in total victory. The planet’s people had surrendered, their solar-system had been conquered, and their resources had been mined. A squadron had been left in their wake to manage a new base of operations on the planet’s surface. It was soon evident, however, that Strika and the rest of the Ground forces were best saved for assaults of the greatest import, and had since been left to prepare and be briefed on such assaults. Very few of the Ground Forces knew Strika very well. She had often kept to herself; interacting with those beneath her only when it was necessary. It wasn’t that she was strict or impersonal, only that she didn’t care enough to get to know any of them, spending most of her time in her quarters doing whatever it was she pleased.

                When her communicator rang, Strika answered it immediately.

                ‘Strika, it’s Starscream.’

                ‘Well, well, well… well, well, well, well, well. If it isn’t the Lord of the Decepticon Empire. To what do I deserve this honour?’

                Starscream rolled his optics. ‘Look, I just wanted to check in in case anything came up in regards to Obsidian’s whereabouts.’

                Strika paused. ‘Nope. Nothing yet. Why, are you worried about him? Aww, that’s adorable!’

                Starscream’s tone did not waver. ‘He disappeared from the medibay without a word to anyone. Not even you. This is a problem, Strika. We need him here so he can help us plan out our future attacks, as well as answer our seemingly everlasting questions. To be frank I’m a little shocked you’ve been taking this as well as you have.’

                Strika laughed. ‘Me? Please. I’ve been consorts with Obsidian for over five-thousand years. He’s fine! So what if he decided to wander off on his own. Let him! He knows what he’s doing.’

                A pause. ‘Very well. I’m still investigating his disappearance as we speak. However, he’s covered his tracks well. Remember, if you find anything—anything at all— that might help us… you know where to find me. Starscream ou—‘

                ‘Starscream, wait.’

                ‘Yes?’

                Strika hadn’t realized it at first, but her servo had been trembling. ‘It’s just—do let me know… when you… find him. Okay?’

                Another pause. ‘Of course.’

                ‘And... if you _do_ see him… be sure to let him know that—heh—if I, like, if I did anything, that might have caused him to do this, then… tell him I’m sorry, and, um, I really wish he would come…’ She went silent for a couple of seconds, ‘…home. Whatever! Never mind! Quit worrying about him, Starscream. It’s like I said, he’ just fine! All these investigations and stuff is adorable and all, but—,’

                ‘I will call you when we find him. Starscream out.’ He hung up, and Strika was left sitting on the edge of her slab, listening to the hum of the speaker. She sat in silence for what felt like minutes. She rose to her feet, and exited her quarters.

                Roadblock had been waiting for her outside. ‘Hey tiny! Where do you think you’re going?’

                ‘On a vacation,’ she said, slowly.

                Roadblock made a pfft noise and exerted some steam, but Strika paid him little notice.

                ‘You’re in charge of the ground forces until I’m gone. Send anyone after me and I’ll send you back a corpse.’

                ‘What. You serious?’ but when Strika glared at him, it was evident she wasn’t messing around.

                ‘I mean it. Take care of yourself, Roadblock.’

                She walked ahead, leaving Roadblock standing there, wondering what her damage was.

\-----

A call had filtered into Starscream’s terminal and had been left on hold. ‘What is it?’

                ‘Barricade is here to see you.’

                ‘Send him in.’

                The throne-room doors parted, and a small, black and silver Decepticon entered. He carried the disposition of a hardened Cybertronian; one who appeared to have experienced the thick of the war in his youth. That said, compared to Starscream, Barricade was still quite young.

                Barricade bowed before the Lord and Master of all Decepticons. ‘All hail Starscream.’

                Starscream was still getting used to that. ‘Rise.’

                Barricade stood with his arms rested neatly behind his back. His brow appeared to have been perpetually furrowed over his four eyes.

                ‘You have something for me?’

                ‘I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,’ the investigator grumbled irritably. ‘For starters, we finally finished debugging the cameras that so “coincidentally” went offline as soon as our friend Obsidian vanished.’

                ‘And? What did you find?’

                ‘Nothing. The tapes were irrecoverable.’

                Starscream began to frown, but Barricade was quick to explain himself. ‘Hey, don’t you look at me like that! We managed to scavenge up a copy of the tapes from both before and after the alleged disappearance occurred. We connected the locations for each of the cameras we know have been bugged, and managed to trace the path Obsidian took during his escape. That path, unsurprisingly, led to the main hangar.’

                ‘And? What did you find?’

                ‘Not Obsidian, obviously. We compared the before and after of the main hangar, and found a small continuity error in the data. One of the ships was missing. No one seemed to notice since a lot of them are unregistered and belong to the guilds, but there was also the fact that everyone was too busy celebrating your little _grandstanding_ performance to notice. From this we can discern that Obsidian entered the hangar while it was unguarded, stole a ship, and took off with it while everyone else’s attention was on _you_.’ He glared at Starscream, as if personally blaming the seeker for the strategist’s escape. ‘From this we can probably conclude that Obsidian is no longer on the planet.’

                Starscream’s eyes narrowed. ‘And have you recovered anything that might point to where he decided to go?’

                Barricade sneered. ‘With all due respect, “Lord” Starscream, Obsidian is a genius. He wouldn’t have left a scrap of information behind if he didn’t want to be found. And if it’s not blatantly obvious already, this freak does _not_ want to be found.’

                Starscream stared at the investigator for a time, then spoke. ‘It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to be found. He. Will. Be. Found.’ He sliced his hand through the air. ‘Question everyone and every _thing_. Someone ought to know _something_ around here, and it’s only a matter of time before they _squeal._ ’ He lowered his servo. ‘I believe that will be all, Barricade.’

                Barricade exhaled, slouching over as he turned to make for the door. ‘Finally. Was afraid you were going to keep me here for another hour or so.’

                ‘Oh, and Barricade?’

                He turned around. Starscream was on his feet. He snapped his fingers at the investigator. ‘Not many Decepticons talk to me the way you do. I like the cut of your jib. Be sure to find something. I might have a special job for you in the near future should you prevail.’

                Barricade merely shrugged, and proceeded out the throne-room’s doors. ‘Whatever.’

                As he left, Starscream tapped in another patch through his chair. ‘Give me Soundwave.’

                In seconds, the Communications expert’s hologram brightened up the room. ‘My Lord.’

                Starscream steepled his fingers as he observed his rival. No longer did they bicker over petty feuds and philosophies. No longer did Soundwave treat him as anything less than he was. It was disconcerting, to say the least. ‘Soundwave. I have given some thought regarding your proposal to lead the expedition for Prime in Thundercracker’s place.’ Starscream waited for a response, but Soundwave remained quiet and rigid. Listening attentively to what his commander had to say and nothing more. The warlord’s brow creased. ‘Your proposal has been accepted. I have decided to shift Thundercracker’s search from Prime to Obsidian. If you believe your agents to be effective enough in spying him out, then I will trust in your judgement. Bring Optimus to me. Alive, if you can, though you will not be admonished if you fail in this regard, and _only_ in this regard.’

                Soundwave nodded. ‘As you command, Lord Starscream.’

                ‘Do _not_ fail me, Soundwave.’

                The hologram dissipated, and Starscream fell back into his throne. He felt nothing from this.

\-----

                Blackarachnia blocked a blow with one of her claws, staggering just long enough for Ironhide to deliver a left-hook to her gut, causing her to barrel over. She swung her leg around, managing to kick Ironhide in his rib, though this did little to move the large Autobot. Ironhide grabbed hold of her leg, and swung her off her feet, and into the training room floor. On her back, Blackarachnia attempted to raise her head, only for her helm to meet with the tip of Ironhide’s cannons.

                ‘Dammit.’

                Ironhide snorted. ‘You are far too predictable for your own good.’

                Blackarachnia remained where she lay on the ground. ‘Whatever man, you’re the one that suggested we start sparring, not me.’

                ‘Indeed. But all you’ve managed to prove is that you are in need of some dire improvement. You’re sloppy. Un-coordinated. When it comes to fisticuffs I could destroy you any day of the week.’

                She shrugged, lying on her back with her claws behind her head. ‘Who cares? As long as I can still go into beast mode nothing can stop me.’

                Ironhide loomed over her. ‘If I recall from our previous encounter, Strika managed to stop you quite easily.’

                ‘Only because she hit my T-cog the wrong way.’

                ‘And because of that, you lost. We need to be in top physical condition, Blackarachnia, in case something as bad as Starscream finds us again. That means all of us in _every_ form.’

                ‘Yeah, well, maybe you should be the one practicing harder. After all, I beat you pretty bad.’

                Ironhide frowned. ‘What are you on about? I didn’t—,’

                Blackarachnia reached up and poked both of Ironhide’s eyes, causing him to stammer back. The spider then leaped onto her feet, and kicked the weapons specialist in the chest, knocking him onto his back. Standing over him, Blackarachnia grinned down at her sparring partner. ‘Boom.’

                Ironhide scowled up at her. ‘That wasn’t fair!’

                She chuckled. ‘Oh NOW you talk about fair. What happened to the whole “anything can happen on the battlefield” speech you were working up to?’

                Ironhide grumbled as he lifted himself back onto his feet. ‘We were between matches! Of course I wouldn’t have stopped to lecture you if you were a real Decepticon! If we were still sparring you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do that!’

                ‘Cry it up, baby! You know I have you beat!’

                Before Ironhide could respond, there was a knock on the sparring room doors. The two turned to find Jazz leaning in the doorway, greeting them with a grin. ‘Hey. So what’s going down in this neck of the woods.’

                ‘Me kicking Ironhide’s ass,’ Blackarachnia said proudly.

                Ironhide let out a low grunt. ‘Sparring.’

                ‘Groovy. Mind if I cut in? I could use the exercise.’

                Ironhide and Blackarachnia exchanged glances, then stared at the smiling spec ops agent. They grinned sinisterly back at him, fists clenching and claws snapping.

                ‘Very well,’ Ironhide said, approaching the lieutenant. ‘I’ve been meaning to see what kind of metal you’re made of.’

                ‘Oh yes,’ Blackarachnia added wickedly. ‘I’ve been wondering when we’d finally get to initiate the new guy. Come on, smiles, do your worst!’

                In seconds, Blackarachnia and Ironhide were smashed against the floor, their their faces planted into the neat paneling and leaving small cracked outlines surrounding their figures. Their bodies ached all over, dents and scraped spotted their armour, and their limbs hurt to move.

                Jazz dusted off his hands before stretching his limbs high above his head. ‘Hm. Not bad. That said, I don’t think I’d mind going a few more rounds if either of you are still interested.’

                Blackarachnia peeled her face from the floor. ‘That’s it. I need to call Optimus down here to save _us.’_ She slowly rose to her feet, and started making her way to the door. ‘I’ll go get the boss-bot. You guys have fun while I’m gone.’

                Ironhide lifted his head. ‘What?’

                Above him, Jazz stood, cracking his knuckles and smiling. ‘Now then, you feeling up for round two, ‘Hide?’

                As the two fought, Blackarachnia made her way up to the main bridge. She had to consider her recent scuffle with the spec-ops agent. Jazz was even worse than she thought. She would need to keep a closer eye on him. Or four.

                Optimus had turned off the main-view monitor as soon as Blackarachnia entered the bridge. He spun around in his chair to greet her. ‘Hey, Blackarachnia. How’d sparring with Ironhide go?’

                ‘Fine until Jazz showed up,’ she said, approaching him. ‘That bloody agent threw both me _and_ Ironhide into the floor. I keep telling you he’s dangerous, but you never listen.’

                Optimus chuckled. ‘Yeah, well, just be glad he’s on our side. Need my help?’

                She nodded quickly. ‘Yeah. Though we should probably hurry. I’m sure Ironhide been killed by now. We should plan a funeral for him immediately. No time for tears or eulogies. No time to check to see if the body’s still alive, just a quick funeral, and a faster burial. It’s what he would have wanted.’

                ‘I’m sure he would.’

                As the pair walked through the Ark’s halls, Blackarachnia asked, ‘So what were you doing alone on the bridge? I mean, it’s kind of disconcerting when one moment you’re telling us you’re hearing voices and the next you’re sitting alone in silence.’

                Optimus raised a palm to her. ‘Don’t worry about me. I was only looking up information on branched sparks.’

                ‘Branched sparks? What’s got you interested in those?’

                ‘Oh, I wanted to make sure my spark-twin was okay after I, you know, died.’

                Blackarachnia blinked, then stopped where she was. ‘What? Wait—what?! You have a brother?!’

                Optimus gestured to her to keep moving as he spoke. ‘Not really. I was born with my spark branched to another, only to be separated from birth moments after. I never really got to “know” him because of the exodus, and we were raised by completely different families, so it’s not like we share anything aside from a spark malfunction from our youth and a common place of birth. He doesn’t really mean anything to me—or she. I just wanted to make sure my “death” didn’t harm anyone that hadn’t anything to do with it.’

                ‘Oh,’ Blackarachnia stared forward as they walked. ‘Huh. Still, just when you think you know somebody.’

                ‘Yeah.’ After a pause, Optimus spoke. ‘Say, Blackarachnia, I don’t think I’ve ever had the chance to ask you this, but did you ever happen have any siblings of your ow— AAAAGHH!’ Optimus fell to his knees, clutching his head in pain.

                Blackarachnia immediately fell to his side, searching for possible cuts or bruises that could be causing it. ‘Are you alright? Boss-bot—what is it?!’

                Optimus struggled to speak, and when he did, screams came out instead. ‘The… voices… they…’ Optimus fell onto his side, shaking violently.

                Blackarachnia stood up and yelled. ‘Ironhide! Jazz! I need some help over here! Dammit stop what you’re doing and help Optimus already! The guy’s in pain!’

                Optimus couldn’t drone them out. The voices wouldn’t stop screaming into his ear.

“Help!” they boomed. Repeating over and again. “Help!”

\-----

                Thundercracker never pictured himself as ever coming close to becoming Aerospace Commander of the Decepticons. He had reached his position as a head lieutenant of Starscream through his sheer ability to survive, and the only way for him to be promoted further was if either Starscream or Slipstream had died. Though both were still alive and well, fate had resulted in Thundercracker achieving this position regardless. He wasn’t so sure if he even wanted it.

                ‘We’re changing objectives?’ Thundercracker asked.

                Starscream’s holo-form nodded slowly. ‘According to Barricade’s reports, Obsidian stole a small surveillance craft capable of moving across space in small bursts. He should be in one of New Kaon’s surrounding systems as we speak. After all, he needs to stop for fuel _some_ place.’

                Thundercracker’s initial objective, as leader of the new Aerospace Fleet, was to hunt down the breathing rumors of Optimus Prime’s survival, and suffocate them. To finish the job and kill Optimus for good. It was clear to Thundercracker that Starscream was upset over his longstanding rival’s penchant to survive, though he couldn’t blame him. While he admitted he was tired of questing, he had nothing left for him back in New Kaon, and he did intend to start over with the Prime, one way or another.

                ‘You’re asking me to look for him?’

                ‘The matter of his disappearance is intergalactic in nature, so yes. All matters falling under that category now belong to you.’ Starscream began examining his finger-tips. ‘I’ll have Barricade upload all of his data to the Nemesis’ mainframe. I imagine that should be sufficient?’

                Thundercracker nodded, then paused. ‘It is… Starscream—My Lord, if you wouldn’t mind my asking… how is Strika doing in all this.’

                He frowned. ‘Not well.’ He raised his head. ‘But I will let her know you asked about her. I’m sure she would appreciate it.’

                ‘I’d rather you didn’t. We both know how she’d _really_ react.’

                Starscream nodded. ‘Very well. That will be all, Aerospace Commander. Starscream out.’

                The hologram dissipated, and silence returned to the main bridge. Dozens of seekers aligned the computer terminals along the bridge’s perimeter. The ship was once again flourishing with an army. One twice as large than it was before even Megatron’s death. Ironically, his former Commander’s demise had done more for the Decepticons than ever it would, were he alive. Behind him, a panel opened, and a dark seeker entered the bridge.

                Fully operational once more, Skywarp had been given a new body as a result of Flatline’s surgery stripping away the majority of his original parts. His new body was just as large and brutish as the last, but with a modified head and a more modern and streamlined appearance to compensate for his newfound abilities.

                He slapped his knees as he approached his partner. ‘Hey, hey, hey! Guess who’s back!’

                Thundercracker barely spared him a nod.

                ‘Powerdive and I picked up those energy cannisters that you were asking for. Buddy, come on! You happy to see me or what?’

                ‘Welcome back, Skywarp.’

                The Aerospace Lieutenant huffed, wrapping an arm around Thundercracker’s shoulder. ‘That’s all? You know, according to Strika you wouldn’t stop crying over me for a minute! Apparently I was the center of your world to you!’

                Thundercracker pushed his old partner off of him. ‘More like a pain in my ass I had to supervise for every waking minute.’

                Skywarp chuckled. ‘That must have sucked. Having to supervise your own ass. You’d have to, like, turn your head all the way around just to get a good look at it. Even then you’ve got those wings in the way. It’s like trying to lick your own fraggin’ elbow. It’s just impossible!’

                Thundercracker’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know, you’re a lot dumber than I remember.’

                Skywarp raised his palms. ‘Hey, I was just kidding. I was having a _chuckle._ Geez. And besides, I hear Slipstream has become the new class-clown around here.’

                Thundercracker tilted his head to the side. ‘That’s right. Where _is_ she anyway—,’

                A panel fell from the ceiling, clanging against the bare metal of the Nemesis’ bridge. All the seekers in the room paused and stared. Skywarp and Thundercracker looked up, and the body of Slipstream fell from a hole in the ceiling, landing on top of the discarded panel with a louder clang. Her limbs splayed about. ‘Ow.’

                Thundercracker looked up at the ceiling, and then back down at Slipstream. ‘Were you just—were you just in the vents?’

                She shrugged. ‘Yyyyyep.’

                ‘Why were you in the vents?’

                She shrugged again. ‘I dunno. I was… _venting_. Don’t judge me.’ She rose clumsily to her feet, and pointed a commanding digit Thundercracker. ‘You should try it sometime!  Maybe it’ll make you less of an ass!’

                Skywarp squinted down at her. ‘Well played, Slipstream. Well played.’

                Thundercracker merely shook his head. He had had enough of this nonsense. Slowly, he began to notice the stares and glares of the seekers surrounding them. He couldn’t blame them. These were there superiors? An idiot, a mental case, and… Thundercracker. Evidentially, Thundercracker was not what they had in mind either. While Thundercracker considered his leadership adequate enough, it was clear his subordinates still had hard feelings toward him after allowing Megatron to die. His reputation as a supposed “coward” did not appear to sit well either. He hoped to prove himself in time.

                The front-monitor activated, and a familiar yellowy-orange face came to light upon the screen. ‘Hey boss, we’ve got a situation goin’ on outside.’

                Thundercracker turned to him. ‘What is it, Roadgrabber?’

                ‘We are receiving requests to dock, but, er, we’re not entirely sure if we’re allowed to make that call or not.’

                Skywarp folded his arms. ‘Why? Whose boarding? Want me to kick their ass?’

                Roadgrabber paused. ‘I don’t _think_ so. Anyway their boss says his name is Acid Storm. That they are what’s left of the old legion, and have sought to reconvene with us now that the bounty’s been fulfilled. Should we let them in? Yay or nay?’

                Thundercracker thought hard about this. Acid Storm. Starscream had threatened to kill him the next time he saw him, but of course, Starscream wasn’t here. Acid Storm and the others would no doubt hold some ill will against Thundercracker for siding with Starscream back then, and knowing Acid Storm, Thundercracker feared the possible on-board conflict that might occur should he try anything… dangerous.

                ‘Ooh yes, do it,’ Slipstream said, fingers clasped. ‘The poor little guys are must be so cold and lonely out there! Bring them in so we can warm them up with our… with our bodies…’ She paused, then formed an X with her arms. ‘False alarm guys. I just realized something obvious. They only want in for my body. Keep them out.’

                Skywarp chuckled. ‘Hey, I think we should let them in—more the merrier and all—but, heh, lock the door first. Like, tell them to come in, but make sure the hangar doors are locked so they can’t actually enter. Classic!’

                Thundercracker waved at them to shut up, then stared at the main screen. ‘What do you think, Roadgrabber?’

                The Decepticon blinked. ‘What do _I_ think? I dunno. I… don’t see any harm in raising our numbers.’

                Thundercracker nodded. ‘Very well, let them in. Unimpeded.’

                All three Decepticons stared at him.

                ‘That means without any childish pranks.’

                ‘Er, right, sir.’ Roadgrabber’s face dissipated from view.

                Skywarp lowered his head and sighed. ‘This is what you brought me back for? This? You’re killing me here, Thunders.’ The seeker teleported away, leaving little but a purple flash of light that lingered seconds after he had gone.

                Thundercracker squinted. He still needed to research that. Now that Skywarp was active he knew he could do it without any restraints or repercussions towards his system. He knew Starscream was interested as well.

                Slipstream cupped her mouth. ‘No! Don’t let the invaders in! They’re just going to steal our jobs.’

                Thundercracker began to frown, attempting to drown out another stream of nonsense uttered from her mouth. For once, he stopped to consider Slipstream’s words. They were talking about Acid Storm, after all. ‘To be perfectly blunt with you Slipstream?’ he turned his head toward her, staring deeply into her cracked optics. ‘What you’re saying is _exactly_ what I’m afraid of happening.’


	62. Sickness

To say Optimus was sick would be an understatement. The Prime lay on the medical berth, fingers digging depressions into his helm; vocalizer wailing loudly for the voices to stop. Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz gathered around him, watching him with grim expressions. They had little idea what to do about his pain. And they hated themselves for it.

                Jazz was quick to fall into his role as sub-commander. He pointed a strict digit at the others, voice firm and commanding. ‘Do either of you have any experience in medicine?’

                They shook their heads. Blackarachnia said, ‘Prime was our medical officer. If either of us got beaten into a pulp – which happened to be often, as you can imagine—, he would be the one to fix us in a pinch.’

                Jazz frowned down at the writhing Prime. ‘Then that makes this a whole lot trickier.’ The spec-ops agent placed his hands on Optimus’s, trying to keep him from hurting himself any further. ‘Come on, Prime—speak to me. _Teach_ me. Tell me what we can do for you.’

                Ironhide stepped forward. ‘What about your audio-receptors, Prime? Will shutting them off do you any good?’

                ‘No…’ Optimus groaned. ‘It’s coming… from within.’ He pointed at the hangar of medical equipment at the far side of the room. Needles, syringes, and tubes lined the wall in neat little stacks and columns. ‘Grab… one of those needles. Fill it with vector-caste fluid. It will shut of my higher functions… temporarily.’

                Blackarachnia had already rushed over the grab the materials needed.

                Ironhide squeezed his shoulder. ‘This better not have any lasting effects on your system, Prime. If it just so happens that injecting you screws with your body permanently—,’

                But the weapons specialist was promptly ignored. ‘Then—use the x-ray scope to look inside my… body. Try to find what’s causing… this. The Ark should tell you the rest.’

                Grabbing the needle from Blackarachnia, Jazz jammed its point into Prime’s neck without a moment of hesitation. Though he struggled at first, Optimus slowly began to quiet down, and eventually succumb to the treatment; falling into a deep stasis.

                Jazz exhaled, then motioned for Ironhide. ‘You heard the chief, bring that x-ray over here.’

                Ironhide pulled over the large camera-shaped apparatus and held it above the medical berth. It activated, projecting a picture onto the nearest glass monitor. The screen fizzled to life, depicting the white, exoskeletal frame of Prime’s body.

                ‘Now magnify.’

                The Prime’s skeleton faded as deeper metal and sinews were revealed to them.

                ‘Stop.’

                Jazz pointed at the screen, finger tracing around Prime’s spark casing. ‘That’s it. Take a look at this.’

                ‘What?’ Blackarachnia said, squinting at the image. ‘What the hell am I supposed to be looking at here? His spark _seems_ normal enough.’

                ‘According to the Ark’s report, Prime’s new spark casing was heavily altered pre-transfer.’

                ‘Meaning?’

                ‘Meaning it was constructed with a nucleon-fiber. Meaning it was constructed with the _intention_ of restricting the use of any nucleon-born abilities Prime’s spark might have carried.’

                Ironhide folded his arms. ‘No. That _can’t_ be right. Prime was never an outlier. His abilities would have been evident by now. Besides, he would have _told_ me if that were the case.’

                There was a moment of pause as Blackarachnia and Jazz stared at the weapons specialist.

                Ironhide slowly began to massage his forehead. ‘He would have. I _know_ he would…’

                Jazz brought a finger to his chin. ‘This body was evidentially constructed with a very specific purpose in mind—but that doesn’t seem to be what’s causing these spasms the chief’s been suffering.’ He stared up at the screen. ‘Computer, display readings of Prime’s brain module on the double.’

                The image on the screen switched its focus to Prime’s skull. A report filed alongside it.

                Jazz made a wry expression. ‘Well, well. Seems to me like we’ve found the source of the chief’s distress.’

                ‘What?’ Blackarachnia asked, staring at Prime’s motionless frame. ‘Come on, spit it out, smiles—what’s doing this to him?’

                Jazz pointed at the report. ‘When this body was injected with a portion of his original brain module, that’s exactly what it still is, a mere portion. It still needs time to regenerate into a fully formed processor. It shouldn’t cause any long-term problems once it’s completed its regeneration, but at the moment, his brain is still in that process. Still growing.’

                ‘Then that’s what happened to the boss?’ Blackarachnia looked up at the spec-ops agent. ‘His mind is… incomplete?’

                Jazz tilted his head to the side. ‘It’s… a little more complicated than that. See, here’s the bizarre part. Prime’ senses have been set to full alert until the rest of his brain regenerates. It has to in order to compensate. In order for him to control his body at its fullest capacity. In other words, it’s a small brain module working at three times its capacity. Auditory hallucinations are not the typical side-effect.’

                ‘Then these voices he’s been complaining about—,’

                ‘Aren’t coming from _within._ His processor is most “whole” in the section that controls his intercom. With that section working three times as powerful as it would naturally, Optimus has been inadvertedly picking up distant transmissions from across space. These voices—these cries for help that Prime has been hearing, I’m afraid, are real.’

\-----

                Starscream made his way down the streets of New Kaon, half a dozen body-guards surrounding him. The main infirmary was close enough to Kolkular, and Starscream felt the need to walk off some lingering anxieties anyway. Hence, why he wasn’t flying like he usually would. The first big meeting of the Conclave was coming up, and he had some big plans in mind to share to the others. Unfortunately, his walk didn’t seem to alleviate the stress whatsoever. Faces turned to him in awe and intrigue. Eyes followed him, and voices of praise called to him from across the street. The typical “All Hail Starscream” among them. The gazes of adulation that he once so craved had proven to be little more than an annoyance to him. Again he had to ask himself: _This is what I wanted?_ _This?_

                They stopped in the middle of the street to find a small brown-box leaning against a nearby building. Clean of box-fungi, Starscream imagined. The Decepticon Leader crouched next to the box and tapped on it.

                ‘What do you want?’ A voice came from within. Crawling out of the brown cube came a small, bright red Decepticon. Comparatively bright, at least. His colours had faded since Starscream’s last meeting with him.

                He grinned. ‘Why hello, Knockout.’

                The former medical officer grimaced up at him. ‘Why Lord Starscream. Welcome to my humble abode. Do you like what you see? I hope you’re happy.’ Knockout was more pathetic than Starscream expected him to be after forcing him back onto the streets. He couldn’t help but smile at that. Knockout’s upper lip was raised. ‘I’ve got to admit that removing me from my position as one of New Kaon’s most prestigious doctors was the last thing I expected your first orders to be. But bravo for letting your petty prejudices get in the way of your professional work.’

                Starscream shrugged. ‘Well, they weren’t my _first_ orders, but I can see what you’re getting at.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘I’m sorry, Knockout. I just simply couldn’t help but relish in the irony of sending you to live on the streets the way I once had. I _really_ couldn’t.’

                Knockout slowly climbed out of the box and onto his feet. ‘Well, Starscream, you took everything away from me. You took my job, my house— oh, except for one thing.’

                ‘And what’s that? Your friendship? Your love for Breakdown?’

                ‘My weapons.’ A saw-blade emerged from Knockout’s wrist, and the former doctor lunged forward, aiming for the kill. Before he could lay a single cut on the Leader of the Decepticons, however, Starscream’s bodyguards sprang into action. Staxx grabbed Knockout’s arms while Roadpig kicked his shins, knocking him to his feet. Guarding Starscream with his body, Dirtbag ripped a rifle from his waist and aimed it at Knockout’s forehead, clicking back the safety and preparing to execute the Empty for treason.

                ‘Hold your fire.’

                With a wave of his hand, the three guardsman stopped moving.

                Starscream walked around Knockout’s restrained body, grinning smugly. ‘Look at him. Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re playing right into his hand. You’re giving him exactly what he wants.’

                He bent over until his face was inches from Knockouts. ‘You see? He wants you to waste a bullet on him. He wants you to make an _example_ of him. But we’re better than that. Truthfully, this scum isn’t even worth a bullet.’ He forcefully lowered Dirtbag’s rifle before moving on. ‘He’s not worth the time of the lowest denominator of the Decepticon army. Come. We have a busy schedule at hand.’

                Staxx dropped the former doctor before trailing along after Starscream, and soon Roadpig, Dirtbag and the rest did the same. Starscream had full control of his troops. To the point where even an obvious act of mercy for an old colleague appeared to be a life-sentence of torture for them.

                Knockout continued to glare at him as he left, but Starscream could only hope he would soon realize he just had his life saved and forgive him. Granted there wasn’t much else to forgive.  

                The infirmary was in a state of lull. There had been no major battles as of late, and most repairs occurred between the guilds themselves. Colossus’s security forces barely if ever required medical attention, and so New Kaon’s hospital was relatively quiet. Starscream made his way without permit to the special emergency branch of the infirmary, where Decepticons of import were stored. There remained a few serious casualties. Lieutenants awaiting to be recovered; specialists hooked up to life-support. The place where anybody who was worth anything were kept out of harms way. In here were the forms of Gutcruncher and Charger, a pair that had done Starscream quite some trouble in the past.

                He greeted the doctors of the house. ‘Flatline, Nickel… how are our VIPs looking?’

                Two of Flatline’s many servos made a so-so gesture in unison. ‘Somewhere between looking good and downright questionable. Here, see for yourself.’

                ‘Hey!’ Nickel rolled over to the door, shooing Dirtbag and the others out of the way. ‘Do NOT tread your filthy tires in here. This is a _hospital_ for Syncorax’ sake!’

                Starscream gestured for his bodyguards to wait outside before turning to Gutcruncher. ‘What am I looking at?’

                ‘Gutcruncher suffered some serious wounds fighting Charger and that _thing._ We did what we could, buuuuut it appears we have no choice but to surgically remove his T-Cog. There’s a tumor of sorts clumping around the Trinity wires connecting it to his brain module, and we really don’t have a choice but to cut it out. We insert a replacement and the tumor will only regrow. He won’t be happy, but it is highly unlikely Gutcruncher will ever be able to transform again.’

                Starscream massaged his chin. ‘But he _will_ survive, correct?’

                ‘Oh, no question. He should be back onto his feet in a week at the latest.’

                ‘Good. You’re right, he won’t be pleased to find out he can’t transform, but I would be more worried about his business. With him dead, there would be a lot of people with a lot of “deals” left in flux.’

                Flatline nodded, then moved on to Charger. He was as still as Gutcruncher. ‘Now, Charger is where things get questionable.’

                Nickel rolled back over to them. ‘More like unexplainable. Charger should be in full working order. His vital signs are fine. His system is free of bugs. Hell, he’s even _breathing_ properly. He should be awake as we speak, but no matter how much we prod him, he just refuses to respond.’

                ‘We’ll need Charger functioning as soon as possible. I have a hunch he might know what’s happened to Obsidian, and if he in fact does.’ Starscream glared down at the motionless mathematician. ‘Then he sure as hell better not be faking it.’

                Charger didn’t budge.

\-----

                Jazz, Ironhide, and Blackarachnia stood on the bridge in silence as Optimus rested in the medical bay. They needed to find a cure, and quick. Finally, Jazz spoke. ‘We’re going after them.’

                Blackarachnia raised her claws. ‘“Them?” Who’s them? The voices? Why?’

                Ironhide growled. ‘What do you mean “why?” We’re Autobots. Most of us at least. We are tasked with protecting all life. No matter the enemy. No matter the risk.’

                Blackarachnia pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Okay. Fine. I see what you mean, but… what do they matter to us? Shouldn’t we be focusing on the boss’s condition instead?’

                ‘We are,’ Jazz said. ‘It seems to me like if we don’t find the source of these transmissions and tell them to quit it… well…’ he exchanged glances with Ironhide. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but that’s because I don’t know how severe these affects might be on Prime’s brain. As things stand, we can’t afford to wait for his mind to regenerate completely.’

                Blackarachnia nodded slowly. ‘Alright… yeah. Yeah, you’ve convinced me. What’s our first step?’

                Jazz moved over to the nearest control terminal and tapped in some commands. ‘First we track the flow of this transmission.’ He reached over to another terminal, his chest rubbing against the first. ‘Then we set the Ark to warp to those co-ordinates…’

                In seconds, the Ark entered warp-space, tearing across the galaxy in seconds.

                He stepped back, ‘And then… we make contact.’

                As the Ark completed its warp, the front-view monitor began to construct a clear image of what was ahead. In front of them was a pitch black orb of a planet. Perfectly circular and round; lit by several small specks of blue. The blue freckled planet twinkled and flashed, but the surrounding darkness seemed to overwhelm it.

                Blackarachnia gawked at the image. ‘What are… what are those lights?’

                ‘It’s a hotspot.’

                The three of them turned around to find Optimus leaning in the doorway. One servo clutching his helm.

                Ironhide dashed over to him. ‘Optimus! What are you doing here—you should be in the medical bay!’

                He raised a servo. ‘I’m fine. Just let me—no, I’m fine.’ He pointed at the front-view monitor. ‘That’s a hotspot. A massive one. There seems to be thousands—maybe millions—of newborn sparks resting on that ball of metal.’

                ‘An entire generation of Cybertronians…’ Ironhide muttered.

                ‘Yeah,’ Jazz shook his head at the sight of it. ‘I don’t think there’s ever been one that big since Cybertron croaked.’

                ‘That many sparks mean there’s probably a caretaker involved,’ Blackarachnia said. ‘And considering a transmission screaming “help” is coming from the planet itself, I’m willing to bet this caretaker isn’t taking the best care—so to speak—of these sparklings as one would typically suggest.’

                Optimus nodded grimly.

                Jazz shrugged. ‘Well, we could always choose NOT to suspect the worse for once. It’s not like every planet in this universe is crawling with bad people.’

                Optimus thought about this, then nodded once more. ‘Whatever’s the case, we need to act quickly… the voices are… the voices are…’

                He collapsed to his knees, and Ironhide came running to his side. ‘That’s it, you’re moving back to your slab.’

                ‘Guys?’ Blackarachnia gestured to the front-view-screen. A massive pointed shadow appeared from overhead. At first it seemed as though the space ahead of them was being torn in half, but as the shadow progressed, it became evident that the shape was in fact a gigantic spaceship, flying above the Ark’s overhead, and heading towards the planet before them.

                Ironhide squinted at the thing. ‘That’s massive! There’s no way that model is Decepticon—not even the Nemesis was that big!’

                Jazz brought a fist to his chin in thought. ‘I reckon we should follow beneath its underbelly. Hide ourselves upon entry—just so we can get a look at _them_ before they get a look at _us._ ’

                Blackarachnia glared up at the spec-ops agent. ‘Look, I agree. I think we should do as you’re saying…’ she jabbed a claw at his chest. ‘Don’t think you’re allowed to play leader while Prime is taking a sick-day. You may be ranked above us, but do _not_ get too cocky. And do _not_ expect me to follow all of your orders just because you—’

                ‘Enough,’ Optimus snapped. ‘ _I_ will be leading. I’ll be making planet-fall with you.’

                Ironhide grabbed his shoulder. ‘But Optimus—,’

                ‘No debates. No questions. I need to see whoever is sending this transmission for myself. Carry me if you have to. I’m going.’

                Blackarachnia’s brow furrowed at Optimus, before turning back to the planet as they made their approach. ‘This is definitely a bad idea.’

                ‘Like I said,’ Jazz reminded her. ‘It’s not like every planet in the universe is crawling with bad people.’

\-----

                The black and blue freckled planet was moon-sized, and brimming with life. On the outermost layer were the spark-fields. Powered by a rare shard of Cybertron’s core: Vector Sigma. The All-Spark shard was capable of creating spark-energy, just like it did when it was whole. The sparks would form, harvest, and taken to the second layer. In this layer they would bathe in sento-metallico forming arms, legs, and brain modules. They would become living, breathing beings capable of thought and action. In this layer they would also be taught everything they would need to know for what they would become, and complete their development. In the third layer, the sparklings would be put to the pits. Cybertronian against Cybertronian. Ripping and tearing each other to shreds in front of a captivated audience. Cheering, jeering, and betting against each-other, the crowds would participate from afar, their holoforms filling up an imaginary audience. The winner would continue to fight, if not get picked up by a rich buyer. The losers would be relegated to the work force. Forced to pull masses of chains and gears in order to power the massive rock. During their breaks, they would be locked up and studied for their abilities. Those with unique attributes would be put up for auction, those that were unremarkable would be left to work underground for perhaps the rest of their lives.

                One Cybertronian with a special attribute sat in her cell, optics wide with dread. She muttered under her breath. ‘Help.’ She watched as a young Cybertronian living in the cell across from her, born days earlier, was dragged out of their cell screaming. The Cybertronian’s fists clenched. ‘Someone save us. Please save us all.’


	63. No Escape

Grunt work. All Thrust ever did anymore was grunt work. He didn’t know _why_ he thought following Dirge’s little plan would be a good idea, and yet here he was. Thrust was underappreciated enough on the Nemesis with Slipstream in charge, but at least then he was advising Ramjet and Sunstorm on strategy and not taking check on prisoners for the thousandth time. At least then he was doing something remotely worthwhile.

                He grumbled under his breath as he ticked the boxes on his data-pad. ‘B-26… present. B-27… present.’ He moved to the next cell briskly and impatiently. The little satisfaction he got out of his job was the solace that he was in charge of these younglings. That they were in there, and he was not. Some still quivered with fear, which was good because fear built character. Others had accepted their roles and maintained a near silent disposition. Which was also good because it meant they’d listen to what he had to say.

                ‘B-28… present. B-29… present. B-30… present.’

                Maybe if he sucked up the boss a little, he’d be given the chance to _teach_ these wrecks. Maybe he would have the opportunity to impasse some of his military knowledge to them… He could be like a teacher, or a father figure, to them. Rightfully so. He grinned at the thought, though his fantasies rarely seemed to come true outside of the battlefield. He sighed. To think… Military Strategist and Analyst Thrust… doing grunt work for his so called “boss”.

                ‘B-31… present. B-32… present. B-33…’ It was an awful embarrassment for Thrust. Generals like Obsidian knew he had potential. Generals like Colossus and Tornado knew he had spirit. But fate had continued to curtail his—

                ‘Wait.’ He moved back to the previous cell, and stared inside. ‘B-33?’ Silence. The cell was empty, save for some yellow graffiti splattered against the walls. B-33 had somehow managed to escape. Thrust burst into a sprint. ‘Aw crap!’

                Again. Damn B-33 and most likely B-34 had escaped yet again. How the hell did they keep doing that? He hated them with a passion. If it weren’t for the boss’s orders he would have fed them to the boss’s Sharkticons! But no! Instead he had been tasked with keeping them in check, again, and again. At least he didn’t have to do it alone. He raised a digit to his communicator. ‘Dirge! They’re at it again! Rendezvous with me outside—you know the drill!’

                Reaching the upper-most layer, Thrust transformed into his dark red jet mode and took to the air. Those two had always planned their route through the secondary elevator and onto the surface-layer above. There they would most likely head for the hangar where they would steal a ship and escape. Nobody had escaped yet, of course, and Thrust did not intend to be the first one to let that happen. Hopefully that would be Dirge. The blue and gold jet met up with them as they tore through the skies of the upper-most layer. Silently following orders as usual.

                ‘Where the hell have _you_ been! Where’s your work ethic?’

                ‘Busy.’ Was all Dirge replied.

                ‘Well, whatever. Keep your eye out. It’s those same two again.’

                ‘Those two.’

                ‘Yes Dirge, those two. B-33 and B-34—,’

                ‘No, _those_ two. Down there.’

                Thrust turned his attention below to find the two prisoners in particular. One was a flier—a rarity around these parts. Small for a jet, but quite large compared to the others younglings. Two large thrusters powered the bulky purple and red flier forward, as the other road overtop. The second prisoner was small and yellow. Fingers gripped around the flier’s panels and carefully maintaining their balance.

                ‘Oh. I could figure that out for myself, Dirge. Open fire, as long as we’re gentle, there should be enough to salvage them back into working order.’

                ‘Roger.’

\-----

‘Ah, crap.’ B-33 spat. Watching over his shoulder. ‘They’re firing at us.’

                ‘Evidentially, yes,’ B-34 replied.

                The yellow youngling grumbled to himself. ‘Well, could you _please_ do something about it? Like some kind of—I don’t know, evasive maneuv—EURS!’

                B-34 began barrel-rolling, spinning out of the way of the stun-bolts fired from Dirge’s undercarriage before maintaining their balance once more. B-33’s fingers were digging into 34’s back, body shaking with adrenaline.

                ‘What the hell was that?!’ B-33 snapped.

                ‘Evasive maneuvers.’

                ‘You could have at least _said_ something first! Like: “Hey, Bee, I’m about to spin around in the air, better hang on!” Or, “Hold on, Bee, else you’re going to fall a million feet from the ground and _die!” A_ nything like that would have been a _real_ help, I assure you.’

                ‘A real help would be for you to return fire with your—.’

                Bee’s servos transformed into a pair of electrical “stingers”, surging with electricity. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.’ Beams of electricity burst from Bee’s wrists, tearing through the sky and narrowly missing Thrust’s wings. The seeker was quick enough to dodge, but it kept them busy enough for the two to make their escape.

                ‘We are approaching the net.’ B-34 said.

                ‘Got it. And _thank_ you.’ Bee returned fire once more before taking hold of B-34’s wings.

                B-34 dove into a nose-dive, gaining on the ground below. In seconds, Thrust and Dirge followed suit, performing a straighter and faster nose-dive than the less experienced flier.

                ‘Trying to psych us out, eh?’ Thrust called to them. ‘Nice try, kids. But I’ve been doing this scrap for a millennia! There’s nothing you can do that I can’t do better!’

                Bee squeezed hard on B-34’s wings. ‘I, uh, hope you’re planning on pulling up soon.’

                ‘Be patient.’

                Meters from the ground, B-34 pulled upwards, soaring forward before landing stomach first on the hard pavement. Sparks showered from her undercarriage as the jet transformed, piece-by-piece. In robot-form, B-34 fell into a slide, screeching to a halt on her arms and legs.

Bee held onto her thrusters, quivering long after they stopped moving. ‘Well, we’re alive. That’s good, eh?’

                Thrust and Dirge pulled up just as B-34 had, flying meters above the ground before boosting towards them. ‘You’re not escaping today, idiots—,’

                The trap activated, and the electrical net Bee stole from the boss’s materials cache activated. While he and B-34 were small enough to slide underneath it, Thrust and Dirge were too large to change their direction of travel and had flown straight through. The electrical net caught them, dragging them to the ground and electrifying them with thousands of volts. They screamed as electricity surged through their systems, scrambling their higher functions temporarily.

                Thrust and Dirge writhed on the ground in pain as B-34 rose to her feet. Bee jogged over to the seekers, and began examining their groaning frames.

                B-34 had already begun to walk away before realizing her partner wasn’t following. She turned to him and frowned. ‘We need to move.’

                Bee waved her away. ‘You can go on ahead if you want. These two and I have some unfinished business.’

                B-34 stormed over to him. ‘We should escape while we have the chance.’

                Bee activated his stinger, sparkling with electricity. His battle-mask was down, large, black, oval optics reflecting his victims faces. ‘I don’t care. After all the torture, and the labour and the… and the abuse! After what they did to the others…? I can’t let them just—I can’t let things end like this!’

                B-34 grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Bumblebee.’

                ‘No. They need to be punished for what they’ve done! Because if I don’t punish them right here and right now, then nobody will. I need to do it for big cat… for Tigatron.’

                B-34’s hand left his shoulder. She went silent.

                Bumblebee clashed his stinger’s together, sending sparks all over the net as he approached it. Thrust and Dirge watched him in silence. ‘Now then, what do you think would happen if I shoved this stinger up your aft?’

                Thrust merely frowned.

                ‘I mean it. How far do you think I could shove this stinger up your aft, and what would happen? Genuinely curious here, folks.’

                ‘You’re disgusting.’

                Bumblebee shot a blast of electricity into Thrust, sending him convulsing and spasming on the ground beneath the net. ‘You’re one to talk, Thrust. You underestimated us. You thought you could defeat the bird and the bee! But you know what I think? I think you fail to live up to your own hype. I think—what? What’s so funny.’

                Thrust was chuckling to himself. ‘The bird and the bee. You’re really calling yourselves that? The bird and the bee?’

                ‘Yeah? What? Is that funny to you? I mean, I don’t know. I’m like, five years old, in case you forgot, so there are some aspects of humour that elude me. That’s society’s problem, not mine.’

                ‘Oh, there’s that, but there’s also the fact that—,’ Suddenly, Thrust’s turbines activated, sending a burst of wind and energy in Bee’s direction. The electric net went flying off of the seekers and into Bumblebee, pinning him to the ground and electrifying him constantly.

                ‘—you’re _very_ easily distracted.’

                B-34 ran towards him, only for Dirge to fly forward and smash his fist against the side of her skull. The purple jet hit the ground hard, liquid leaking from the cracks in her helm as she did. She was already beginning to black out. As Thrust and Dirge began to drag them back to their cells, B-34 could only cling to the teachings Tigatron passed on to her before his departing. She held on to the name he gave her. Airazor. It kept her feeling like an individual. It kept her feeling sane. She knew Thrust and Dirge would have blocked out communications from the outside, but still, she maintained hope. Airazor sent a mental transmission through her intercom once more. Not that there would be anyone remotely nearby to hear it. “Help us.” She thought with all her might. She needed to escape this place, and she knew Bumblebee and herself couldn’t do it alone. “Someone help us, please.”

\-----

“Someone help us, please.”

                Optimus grabbed his head once more. The voices were getting worse. They were beginning to overlap and shout over each-other, until ultimately he was listening to an entire chorus of voices screaming for help at fluctuating volumes.

                ‘Hang in there, chief,’ Jazz said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘We’re almost there.’ He gestured to the Ark’s front view-screen. ‘Look.’

                The massive ship overhead had begun its descent, its inhabitants unbeknownst to the Ark that had magnetized to its underbelly. The ship stationed its landing in the middle of a wide-open tarmac on the planet’s outer-most surface. There was no one there to greet them aside from the fields of newly-spawned for them to admire.

                Jazz, Ironhide and Blackarachnia dropped from the Ark’s undercarriage, landing into a roll on the pavement bellow. Optimus landed next, wobbling slightly as his pedes touched the ground.

                ‘You’re sure you’re alright?’ Ironhide asked as the Prime approached the others.

                He shook his head. ‘I’m fine. Really. I just need to see this place for myself. Make my own judgements.’

                Jazz folded his arms. ‘You really don’t have to push yourself, you know. I’ve led reconnaissance missions before. There’s no shame in lettin’ me take command just this once.’

                He raised his palm. ‘Please. I’m here. I’m leading. I’m… get down.’

                ‘Eh?’

                ‘Now!’

                Jazz, Ironhide and Blackarachnia hit the dirt as a ramp spawned from the massive ship above. As soon as it touched the ground, a sleek black Cybertronian-car rolled down from the ship’s entrance and onto the pavement.

                Optimus waved the others forward. ‘Follow him, Autobots. But remain scarce.’ He pointed to the buildings located on either side of the main road. They were short and ranged from single-story storage areas to simple factory buildings. However, their winding alleyways provided enough cover for the four to move unseen. ‘We should stay in robot mode. Our engines will only provide unwanted attention.’

                The four dashed through the alleyways, keeping a keen eye on the car as it cruised through the complex’s empty streets. They kicked off walls, leaped roof-tops, and sprinted through maze-like pathways as they followed the car. Prime, however was distracted by what was below. Large fissures ran through the plant’s crust, revealing the very nature of the sparkling’s existence down below. Hundreds of younglings were being brutally worked by mindless drones. Chains wrapped around their limbs as they pulled loads of Energon cubes, weapons, and supplies to their intended destination. Disgusted, Prime’s fist clenched. ‘I will…’ he muttered. ‘I _will_ find a way to help you.’

                ‘We need to move, Prime.’ Jazz said, ushering him forward. ‘We’ll cook up a plan as soon as we get the chance. I promise.’

                He nodded, and followed. After minutes of following the car, the Prime gestured to the structure ahead. There was a massive dome of glass ahead of them. It was an atrium of sorts. Whatever was inside was clearly of some major significance. The sleek vehicle drove straight into it, doors parting to welcome him in before shutting behind him once again.

                ‘We need to get on top of this thing,’ Optimus remarked, approaching the glass himself. ‘Jazz, grapple hook. Blackarachnia, legs.’

                They nodded, and as Jazz fired his hook high above, Blackarachnia extended her spider stalks from her back and began climbing it, bit by bit. Optimus gestured for Ironhide to stay down below as he took hold of Jazz’s waist and the spec-ops agent pulled them up.

                On top, Optimus peered inside the glass dome to find what was inside to be a large office of sorts. A small yellow and purple Cybertronian sat at a large metal desk, surrounded by corny decorations and an entire wall dedicated to an aquarium of Sharkticons.

                The yellow and purple Cybertronian appeared to have been on a phone-call of sorts.

                ‘I can’t hear what they’re saying,’ Blackarachnia muttered. ‘Want me to break the glass and stick my head in?’

                Optimus frowned at her. ‘That’s a horrible idea.’

                Jazz turned to him. ‘No need to worry, guys.’ He tapped the side of his head, and a thin cord fell from the antenna at the side of his head. He pressed the cord against the glass, and noises began to emerge from his speakers. ‘I got this under control.’

                Blackarachnia flinched. ‘Wait, you can _do_ that? You can hear through walls?’ she raised her claws defensively. ‘I swear to Mortilus, Jazz, if you’ve listened in to my room without my permission for even _one_ second, I will claw out your eyes and—,’

                Jazz patted the air. ‘Whoa, chill out, BA. This is just some tech I’ve had jumbling around my system from my more… classified days as an agent.’

                Optimus nodded. ‘Leave him alone, Blackarachnia,’ he tapped the glass, ‘and listen…’

\-----

                ‘Of course, of course! The thrusters are in full operating order. Would I ever lie to you?’ Swindle massaged his head. ‘No, no! The Transformers here are bred to their fullest combative potential. I assure you. There is no wider selection in the Galaxy—nay the universe—and for these prices?’ He paused to listen. ‘Well, mister Quantax, I must express my grievances over the destruction of your system, but quality has a _price_. With just one healthy Transformer under your scientist’s care, you could easily reverse engineer about a dozen more. The more unique the ability, the more useful they happen to be.’ He secretly cursed his impatient client. This was becoming a hassle. ‘Of course. Yes of course. We hope to hear from you again. Yes—bye. Bye!’

                The former Combaticon hung up, and began massaging his brow. Why were people being so damn fickle about this? He had lowered the prices already, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to lower them any further. The doors to his office parted, and his bodyguards—Thrust and Dirge, entered. What could those idiots want? He spread his arms wide. ‘My boys! What can I do for my favourite pair of cone-heads today?’

                ‘We’re just here to file some reports, Boss.’ Thrust said, arms folded. ‘B-33 and B-34 escaped again. They’re back in their cells, but…’ he shook his head. ‘They’re becoming a total nuisance.’

                Swindle sighed. ‘Yes, yes. I know how… rambunctious those two are. But have you seen the bids on them? A flier with forged photon thrusters? A mini-bot armed with electro-stingers? The organics are going crazy over them! Not only are fliers in short supply, but B-33 will be a major hit with those searching for stealth operatives. I’m telling you, military wise, those two are a gold-mine!’

                Thrust grumbled. ‘Well, can you sell them sooner? I know you want to get the highest price possible out of them, but the yellow one is _really_ starting to irritate m—,’

                Dirge cleared his throat, loudly.

                Thrust turned to him. ‘Hey Dirge, shut up! I’m trying to explain to the boss why—oh. Oh right. I nearly forgot.’ He turned back to Swindle. ‘Your client’s here.’

                Swindle’s wide purple optics brightened at the thought. ‘Is he now? Where?’

                ‘Here.’

                Behind Thrust and Dirge came a tall, dark Cybertronian. Their body was formed with several mis-matched parts, with shapes and colours belonging to other Cybertronians. Their face was seemingly non-existent, replaced instead by a round, green, visor-like apparatus.

                Thrust flinched. ‘Primus, don’t sneak up on me like that! You nearly scared the slag out of me!’

                The tall figure ignored him and moved over to Swindle. Trailing behind him were a pair of large Cybertronians, pushing along a massive cage of sorts. It was too dark to see what was inside, though it was clear whatever it was, it was large, and it was moving.

                ‘You know the drill, Swindle.’ The Cybertronian said. ‘I’ve completed my half of the bounty, you complete yours.’

                Swindle clapped his hands together as he bolted from his desk. ‘We’ll get to payments in a minute.’ He approached the cage skeptically, examining its contents skeptically. ‘First, can we confirm that this is indeed the very same trouble-maker I’ve searching for all this time?’

                The bounty-hunter folded his arms and arched his back. Though it couldn’t be said from his mask, he appeared to have been standing with pride. ‘The Black Knight of Cybertron. Swindle, I never try to weasel my way out of a good hunt. And this Black Knight was no easy hunt.’

                The former Combaticon frowned up at the bounty-hunter. ‘Which would be…’

                ‘Good. _Very_ good.’ He patted the side of the cage with his hook, and a low growl emitted from the bars. ‘My payment?’

                Swindle raised his hands. ‘Alright, alright. Impatient much?’ He tapped his wrist-dial, and the credits were transferred from his personal storage to the bounty-hunter’s. ‘You know, Lockdown, I would have expected you to be leader of the Decepticons by now.’

                The bounty-hunter laughed. ‘And why would you suggest that.’

                ‘Oh, you know. Just the whole Optimus thing. After he killed Megatron—,’

                One of Lockdown’s lackeys took a massive step forward. ‘Megatron lives!’

                Lockdown simply motioned them to be quiet, and then to Swindle. ‘Ignore Lugnut. Please… continue.’

                ‘I was just saying—after the bounty was placed on Prime’s head, one would think you would be on top of that like a petro-rabbit on carrotronic acid. What happened?’

                Lockdown appeared to grin beneath his mask. ‘Oh I had the opportunity to kill Optimus on _several_ occasions. Sometimes I would practice aiming my scope between his optics just to get some exercise in. But that was the thing, once you got past his cloak of dark-space, he would have been a _painfully_ easy kill. In the end he just didn’t have anything I wanted. Leadership of the Decepticons?’ he laughed. ‘Who needs that? All I need is the hunt, the creds…’ he raised his claw-hand. It was a different colour from the rest of his torso. ‘And the trophies…’

\----

‘They’re selling Cybertronians…’ Optimus muttered. He looked up to Jazz. ‘We need to rescue them. This is inhumane… this is forced labour! Swindle can’t be allowed to do this!’

But as he looked up, the barrel of a gun touched the back of Prime’s head. A massive shadow blanketed him as a large figure held him in place. Prime soon realized that Jazz and Blackarachnia were in similar predicaments. A pair of large Cybertronians loomed over them. Blades and pistols pressed against their heads.

‘I wouldn’t move,’ one of them said. ‘unless you want to lose your head.’

Optimus sighed. ‘Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.’


	64. Meeting Crashers

                Optimus’ hands were above his aching head. He really wished he still had his axe after dropping it back on Viafinis.

                The aggressors holding them at gunpoint were large. Definitely larger than Ironhide, and possibly even larger than Starscream. One was a faceless, dark red beast of a robot with broad shoulders and several angled panels across his frame. He held a pair of blasters to the back of both Prime and Blackarachnia’s heads. The other of the two was shorter and slightly pudgier, blue wings sprouting from her back. Regardless, she was at least a head taller than Optimus was. Both of her blasters were aimed against Jazz’s helm. She was looking to the other for directions.

                The larger of the two pressed the barrel of his gun roughly into the back of Blackarachnia’s head.

                She snapped, ‘Oi! Enough of that.’ She tuned to Optimus. ‘Permission to tear this guy apart, boss-bot?’

                Optimus stared at Blackarachnia, then to the much larger robot standing behind her. Optimus stared up at the red robot. His blue visor reflecting Prime’s own undignified position. The giant proceeded to pistol-whip Blackarachnia’s head, causing her to yelp and cracks to run through her helmet.

Optimus strained his voice. ‘We surrender. We are now in your custody. Just leave her alone.’

The blue one shuddered. ‘Uh, good. Right.’ She looked up to the larger one. ‘That’s what we _should_ be doing with them, right? Taking them into… custody?’

The red one was silent.

The blue one stared through the atrium, watching Lockdown and Swindle finalize their arrangements below. ‘So are we going to finish the mission first, or should we be taking them back to the others, because right now I feel like the addition of these guys is probably going to get a little in the way of things.’

The red one shrugged.

                ‘No really, I know you’re supposed to be the quiet type but I kind of need some answers here, you’re the one in charge, not me.’

                The red one lowered his rifle slightly and shrugged. Optimus was exchanging looks with Blackarachnia and Jazz.

                The blue one sighed. ‘You want me to plan for you. Okay. I can do that. Well, shooting them would be a bad idea since we’re all standing on plexi-glas. We still need a diversion, but these guys don’t seem like that much of an issue—.’

                Jazz interrupted her. ‘So I’m taking it that you fellas are _not_ with Swindle’s gang?’

                They exchanged looks. The blue one spoke. ‘No. We’re not any—‘

                ‘We’re not.’ The red one said. ‘We’re just not. Ever, or will be.’

                The blue one turned from her partner to Jazz. ‘We’re here because Swindle took something that belongs to us. Something… important.’

                ‘Then we’re on the same side.’ Optimus said. ‘Lower your guns and we’ll talk this through. We’re good people. Arguably.’ Optimus thought for a moment. A week ago he caused the deaths of dozens of Decepticons. A couple of months ago Blackarachnia murdered hundreds of Autobots across the galaxy. And who knows how long ago, Jazz was committed to killing who knows how many Cybertronians for Prowl. ‘Okay, so maybe we’re _not_ good people. I’ll accept that. Just—.’

                ‘What a coincidence!’ The red one shouted suddenly. ‘We’re not good people either!’ With that, the red robot fired a blast into the glass below them, causing it to shatter. Prime, Blackarachnia and Jazz plummeted into the atrium below. The red robot reached out his large servo only for it to be grabbed by the blue one. In seconds, the blue one transformed into an aerial configuration and began to hover in the air above the glass dome.

‘Why did you do that?’ The blue one shouted as she carried the red one away.

But he would only shrug.

‘Oh forget it. I don’t care how much you hate to speak; you’re explaining this to the others!’

As Optimus fell, he could see something akin to the flapping of wings, but soon ignored it as he hit the ground. The three Autobots were left crouching between the dumbfounded forms of Lockdown, Swindle, and their personal bodyguards.

There was silence for a moment. Then Swindle shouted: ‘What in the name of the Pink Prometheans of Rigus nine?!’

Lockdown swept his hand forward, and his arm morphed into a bright silver hook. ‘They’re spies! Don’t let them escape!’

Swindle ducked beneath his desk as Dirge and Thrust charged forward, firing their missiles. From the left came Lockdown’s men, the five-eyed monster Lugnut charged, brandishing his missile-pod-formed fists and the second, a triple changer—one with a clearly winged robot-mode, changing into a tank configuration.

Cannons and missiles fired from both sides as Blackarachnia pulled Jazz ad Optimus close to her. The missiles made contact, cloaking the three in dark clouds of ash. As the smoke cleared, Blackarachnia’s beast mode stood. It’s massive figure shielding Optimus and Jazz.

Lockdown, Swindle and the rest watched in awe as Blackarachnia unfurled her large leg-stalks. ‘Oh man.’ She said. ‘You guys are _so_ screwed.’

                Blackarachnia charged Lockdown first, leaping at him and pinning him to the ground with her stalks. Jazz and Optimus took cover behind the cage – behind Lockdown’s bounty.

A low growling came from within the cage as Jazz chuckled nervously. ‘I don’t know if I should feel safe behind this thing or...’

‘Terrified?’

‘No, not terrified. Just...’ He paused. ‘Okay, yes, terrified.’

Optimus shrugged. ‘Just don’t think about it, Jazz. Worry about the Decepticons’

‘Oh I’ve got no problem doing that. I’m _already_ doing plenty of that. It’s just that—the way things are now; I think we could use a little firepower.’

 In seconds, the glass from the other end of the atrium shattered as Ironhide crashed through in vehicle mode. Firing wildly from the cannon on his roof and sending chunks of wall and ceiling crumbling around him.

Optimus grinned. ‘That enough firepower for you?’

Blackarachnia struggled to keep the bounty hunter still. He wriggled in place before grinning. In seconds, the bounty hunter’s head split apart, and a massive cannon extended from where his face would be. A massive blast of energy fired into Blackarachnia. The giant metallic spider stumbled back, giving Lockdown just enough time to roll back onto his feet. Several identical blasters sprouted from his chest and shoulders. From his arms came dozens of small sharp knives and blades, covering his limbs like a pair of large metal pinecones. ‘You realize I’m a collector, right?’

Blackarachnia drove a stalk at the bounty-hunter, only for it to be parried by one of Lockdown’s many blades. ‘Buddy, I’ll collect your spark into my energy processor if you’ll just give me a minute.’

‘I’ve collected all kinds of weapons from all across the universe.’ Lockdown swung his blades, clashing with Blackarachnia’s multiple times while simultaneously shooting blasts of electrical light from his head and chest. ‘If you have the properties, I have the repellent.’ Lockdown thrust his bladed arm forward, the metal began to shift. It formed a large purple stinger of sorts, which proceeded to blast a massive ray of electricity into Blackarachnia. The blast caused the beast-former to transform. Her body morphed slightly, electricity surging from within her as a result of her size-changing discharge.

‘NO!’ She snapped back into place. In her massive spider form once more. ‘It’s going to take more than your stupid upgrades to end me!’

Lockdown laughed as he charged her once more. ‘Then perhaps I can add your repellents to my collection.’

Ironhide drove a full circle around the tank-triple changer, drawing his fire before transforming and leaping into the air. He tackled Lockdown to the ground. Stomaching the bounty-hunter’s blades as they shredded across his chest. He barked at Blackarachnia: ‘I warned you this would happen! You can’t just rely on your ability to transform for every fight!’

Blackarachnia let out a screech from her bestial maw. ‘And you can’t not be a jerk all the time. I don’t see you changing.’

Lockdown shoved Ironhide aside before rolling back onto his feet. ‘Well, as much as I like a fair fight—.’ Ironhide punched the bounty-hunter across the face, knocking him back a few feet before grabbing his jaw and fixing it back into place. Anger seemed to enter his voice. ‘Those are some mighty fine cannons you got there.’

Said cannons began to glow. ‘Yup.’ Beams of light fired from their barrels and grazed Lockdown as he dodged. Blackarachnia attempted to tackle the bounty-hunter from the side, but was parried away. The two Autobots took turns striking the bounty-hunter only for their attacks to be reflected at full force.

                Swindle batted his hand to the others. ‘You idiots! Don’t shoot with the cage in the way! Those are valuable goods!’

                Wary of Swindle’s ground rules, the cone-heads broke off and held their fire. Lugnut, however, was keen on firing his entire payload. ‘OPTIMUS!’ The giant roared as missiles flared from his body. ‘I’ll rip you from the face of the galaxy—nay, the universe—NAY, the multi-verse! For claiming yourself to be the end of Megatron!’

                The missiles landed upon the caged, sending it toppling it onto its side and Jazz and Optimus scurrying to get back behind it. The material the cage was made from was powerful, however the bars melted in seconds. The growling from within had gone silent. All movement inside had come to a complete stop.

                Swindle brought his hands to his head and screamed. ‘NO! Do you have any idea how much I was going get for that thing! That was a prized specimen!’

                Ignoring the former Combaticon, Lugnut darted towards the cage, missile-cannisters refilling. ‘You cannot hide from the justice of Megatron, Prime! You tarnish his name as he lays low! He has granted you mercy for your lies! But you are not worthy of mercy! He has left it to me to end you for your crimes against us!’ Lugnut reached over the massive cage. ‘And nothing is going to stop me. Hell—I _dare_ you to tell me one thing that will stop me from killing you, and fulfilling Megatron’s dream!’

                A massive fist burst from the darkness of the cage and grabbed Lugnut by the wrist.

                ‘Me.’

                The cage burst apart and a monstrous Cybertronian rose to Lugnut’s height. In a swift movement, the Cybertronian ripped Lugnut’s massive claws from his body and roared.

                ‘GRIMLOCK!’

                The giant punched Lugnut across the side of the face, knocking three of his five optics from his head before swinging another fist and grabbing the Decepticon by his jaw. In another swift movement Grimlock ripped Lugnut’s massive chin from his head before repeatedly beating him across the head with it.

                Optimus and Jazz peered over the cage, their eyes wide. Optimus turned to Jazz and raised a shivering hand to his head. ‘It’s him. Oh my God, it’s _him_.’

                Jazz placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Relax, we don’t have to—,’

                ‘It’s him, Jazz, it’s Grimlock! If we don’t get out of here right the hell now, we’re going to get _killed_ by that lunatic.’

                Lugnut fell to his knees, lifting his head weakly. ‘I’m sorr—,’

                Grimlock proceeded to smash his fist against the Decepticon’s chest, sending him crumbling to his knees and backwards onto his back. The triple-changer drove towards Grimlock, firing a blast of flames from his tank-cannon. Grimlock guarded himself with his arm before falling to his knees. In seconds, Grimlock began to transform into an even larger form. He was a Dinobot. A Cybertronian subspecies born with a secondary form reminiscent of a metal-feathered lizard of varying appearances.

                The triple changer changed back into their robot-mode and sighed. ‘It appears I have overestimated my opponent. Perhaps I should retreat to—oh man up, Blitzwing, you can kick this guy’s a—!’

                Grimlock whipped his tail, sending Blitzwing crashing into the nearest wall. Sniffing the air, the Dinobot turned his head to the Atrium’s exit and charged forward. Crashing through the glass dome and leaping into the night.

                Swindle sighed as he watched his prize escape. ‘Okay, that’s it.’ He stood onto his desk and shouted. ‘Everyone hold your fire. That means you too, Lockdown. Cut it out or I’ll cut your pay towards all future purchases!’

                Lockdown rolled onto his feet, all of his weaponry retreating back into his body. He raised his hands above his head. ‘Alright, funs over. You heard the mech. I don’t want to lose any more creds.’

                Optimus shouted over the tossed cage. ‘Do as he says!’

                Ironhide frowned over to him. ‘But Optimus—,’

                ‘That is an order!’

                Ironhide lowered his guns and Blackarachnia quickly reverted into her robot-form, panting violently.

                Swindle hopped over his desk, examining the damage. ‘Aw no, that dry-wall is going to cost—oh, and the chandelier…!’ he shook his head. ‘This is going to be a glitch to fix.’ He approached Optimus, who stood with his fists raised. Swindle merely offered his hand. ‘Swindle, of Swindle enterprises. You’re Optimus Prime, I presume?’

                Optimus merely flinched, and took his hand. ‘Er… yes, that would be correct.’

‘I apologize for the mess. We’ve had some… Dinobot trouble as of late. My business partner over there assumed you to be… one of them. Now obviously you’re _not,_ and we shot first… but I’d say not-fining you for the damages is a suitable apology. Doesn’t explain why you were trespassing on our property, but hey, I consider myself the forgiving type.’

‘Yeah…’ Optimus looked around at the surrounding battle-damage, then remembered what he was looking for and released Swindle’s hand. ‘Wait… you’re trafficking sparklings!’

                Swindle raised his hands. ‘No… No! Trafficking is a really… _harmful_ word where we come from. What we do here is nothing of the sort.’

                ‘I saw younglings working a mine down there!’

                ‘Exercise! It’s all a part of our program! We raise sparklings, educate them, train them to excel in their inherent abilities, and then, when they’re ready, send them to new homes for them to fulfill their civic duty!’ He paused. ‘For a price.’

                Ironhide advanced on the Combaticon only to be blocked by Thrust and Dirge. ‘You’re training weapons! You’re treating live Cybertronian as weapons to sell to—.’

                ‘To anyone buying. Yes. It’s a modest business. One I… don’t exactly see a problem with. Our “weapons” as you call them are treated quite well. Some of our buyers might even say _too_ well. Everyone gets a room to themselves. Everyone is given a sufficient amount of Energon. Everyone is given exercise. Everyone is _happy._ And for the love of Primus we don’t _kill_ them! In fact, we barely _touch_ them. We’re not monsters here. I mean, sure we might be a little harsh in order to put some metal on ‘em, but we don’t actively try to make them miserable! We ensure they grow up to be as fit and as healthy as possible— as to sell them to potential buyers!’

                ‘And who _are_ your buyers?’ Jazz asked, grimly.

                ‘Organics, mostly. Aliens who are sick of the Autobot-Decepticon war tearing apart the galaxy, and need something to protect themselves with. Even just one body sold is enough to open races up to Cybertronian biology. To reverse-engineering. See, I like to think myself as a philanthropist—giving a little back to the galaxy your war has wronged.’

                Optimus lowered his head, shaking it slowly. ‘This is illegal.’

                Swindle grinned. ‘Actually, it’s not. The Galactic Council has agreed to my terms. They agreed that non-Cybertronian races should be _armed._ That they should be given the right to defend themselves against the Cybertronian menace.’

                Jazz began to slouch. ‘No…’

                ‘And because the Galactic Council agrees, so has the Vestial Imperium. This is a legal business, Optimus. And you are trespassing. Technically I could call the Imperium right now and have you all arrested. But like I said, I’m a charitable guy. But now to the pressing question at hand’ His grin expanded. ‘You Wanna deal?’


	65. Unaffordable

In Bumblebee’s opinion, recess wasn’t that great. For at least one hour of every day, Swindle allowed the products to step outside and interact with one another in wide, stadium-sized compounds. Employees were required breaks every nine or so hours, as decreed by the Vestial Imperium, and the same applied to the products themselves. Social skills were also a desired trait for some investors, and recess was a good opportunity for the products to interact. As Bumblebee didn’t care to interact with any of the others – save for his neighbor, Airazor – he took little pleasure in stepping outside. If anything it felt like his keepers were dangling freedom at the end of a stick and waving it in front of his face. Even with Airazor’s flight in mind, however, there was no escape. The compound was surrounded by a tall, indestructible gate and several auto-turrets swiveling slowly around its perimeter. The pair had once attempted to use the recess to escape, only to learn the hard way that getting shot by a fully-loaded turret really wasn’t worth the risk.

Bee sulked in a dark corner of the compound. It was kind of his thing. He was one of the cool ones. He gave an icy look through his face-mask to those passing by. They frowned at the smaller bot before continuing on their way.

Airazor transformed and landed next to him with a crash. Dust spraying in all directions from the pressure of her dying thrusters. Bumblebee recoiled; yelping in shock and surprise.

                ‘Airazor—what did I tell you about falling out of the sky like that! My spark’s strong, but not _that_ strong! Geez!’

                She shrugged an apology and sat next to the much smaller robot. Silence. Airazor began to stare at him.

                ‘Stop it.’

                ‘Stop what?’

                ‘Stop looking at me with those sharp, judgmental eyes of yours. It feels totally gross. If you’re going to be passive aggressive with me then at least _try_ doing it well! I’m not going to be friends with slackers, you know.’

                Airazor squinted down at him, then stared forward.

                Bumblebee suddenly threw his hands into the air. ‘OKAY! I get it! I messed up! I’m sorry! If it wasn’t for me and my glaring flaws, we would have escaped our awful, slavish, dystopian life-style! My bad, okay?! There, I said it!’ He sighed, dropping his hands into his lap. He went quiet. Muttering quietly to himself. ‘I really am sorry, though.’

                ‘I know.’

                After a moment of silence, Airazor smacked Bumblebee across the head.

                Bumblebee snarled, massaging the back of his head aggressively. ‘Oh come on! I said I was sorry! Now you’re just being abusive!’

                Airazor shrugged. ‘It was just a love-tap…’ She went quiet. ‘…and the culmination of some pent-up frustration. It’s not like you felt anything with your mask on.’

                ‘I mean, you’re right, but still. Rude.’

                She stared at him. ‘Why do you still have your mask on, anyway?’

                Bee expunged some steam. ‘Because I feel like it, maybe. Every consider that? Yeah, didn’t think so.’

                She reached over and slowly began to force his mask off.

                ‘Hey—quit it!’

                ‘There.’

                His mask shifted from his face to his helm, revealing the small bot’s younger, chubbier face beneath. He looked bashfully to the side, turning his head away from the tall flier. ‘I hate my face. It’s not… _threatening_ enough.’

                ‘Your personality makes up for it,’ Airazor assured.

                ‘Yeah, well… I wish that was some consolation.’

                They sat in silence once more, wasting away the time until the recess was over.

                ‘Hey you!’, shouted a large dark robot, bounding over to the two. ‘You’re those jerks that keep screwing the rest of us over with all your petty escape attempts!’

                Bee raised his palms to the sky and shrugged. ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much us. What’s it to ya?’

                The small dark bot raised his fists and began balancing on his toes. ‘You’re in my spot!’

Bee squinted at him, ‘Seriously?’

‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ The dark bot puffed out his chest in declaration. ‘I was born in that spot! Formed my first layers of sento-metallico in that spot! Ate my first Energon cluster in that spot! That spot is my own! It’s the only place around here that grants me comfort!’

Bee folded his arms over his chest. ‘Yeah, well, is your name on it?’

The bot crinkled his nose. ‘No. Of course it isn’t. And neither is yours! You can’t just pull that kind of—,’

‘Wrong!’ Bee stood up, revealing his name scratched messily into the panel he had been sitting on.

The bot gaped in disbelief. ‘You—what?!’

Bumblebee placed his hands on his hips, smiling smugly at the dark robot. ‘That’s right. I sign my name wherever I sit. Therefore, it defaults to becoming MY spot! That way jerks like you don’t get to have any say as to where I sit!’

The bot clenched his fists, his lip was quivering under clenched denta. ‘That… was _my_ spot!’

Bee smirked, ‘Not anymore, glitch! This is officially a Bumblebee-friendly zone, so if you want to lay some kind of claim, then be ready to feel the st—,’

The bot let out a roar and charged Bumblebee, fists thrashing.

Before he could land a hit, Airazor’s thrusters rotated forward and sent a burst of energy into the bot’s chassis, sending them flying a few yards back and into the floor where they laid trembling from the shock of the blow.

Cowering behind the larger flier, Bee quickly cleared his throat before adopting a more dignified stance. ‘I could’ve taken him.’

‘He was three times your size.’

‘I could’ve taken him.’

‘His fists were bigger than your head.’

‘I said I could’ve taken him!’

‘Okay.’

Airazor’s attention was soon drawn to the compound’s doors sliding open. Thrust soon made his presence known to the products with the clearing of his throat.

The cone-head shot Airazor a glance before making his announcement. ‘Everyone back in your quarters. We have a very kind guest who is willing to buy one of you.’

Airazor grabbed her head, optics squeezing shut from a sudden rush of pain in her cerebral cortex.

Bee looked up at her worryingly. ‘Those headaches again?’

                She nodded quickly. They occurred whenever her internal-radio was on the fritz.

\-----

Thundercracker stood on the Nemesis’ podium. He was supposed to “address the troops,” something he was never good at. It was almost shocking to him how bad he was at this. He was the right hand of Starscream for hundreds of years. He was a head lieutenant of the Aerospace Legion, and yet he had no leadership potential whatsoever. Like always, Thundercracker desperately wanted to be better than he was. What’s worse, Thundercracker’s chief advisors included Skywarp and Slipstream. He had very little help in excelling at his position of Aerospace Commander.

‘Alright everyone, listen up, because this is what’s going to happen.’ Thundercracker began, speaking into the mic. ‘We are about to approach our first planetoid. Organic, of course. It doesn’t seem to be under the protection of the Imperium, so we should be safe to do as we please. Now they have a Westphalian-ish system going on so they may or may not have single governing body. We’re going talk to them— see if they can help us in getting our guy. If not, we take matters into our own servos. Basically what we’re going to do is make planet-fall and lock down the planet’s emmigration services. Then, we interrogate any officials dealing with extraterrestrial visitors about green, legless helicopters. Obviously we are going to find some resistance, so gear up, and prepare for the worst.’

Just as the legion of seekers prepared to leave, a voice called on from the crowd. ‘Hold on now, Thundercracker.’

It was Acid Storm. Thundercracker had dreaded the Rainmaker’s induction into the crew. He was too vocal, and as much as he hated his own lack of leadership, he also hated the way others criticized him about it as well.

Without permission, the rainmaker crawled onto the podium, halting the rest of the seekers in their tracks with a wave of his hand. ‘Now Thundercracker,’ he began ‘here I believed you to be the non-combative type.’

Thundercracker paused. ‘I guess. I’ve been accused of being such long enough.’

‘I think we can all agree that we don’t want to make a… mess of things. Rather than go to war with the planet below, why do we not attempt peaceful negotiations?’

Thundercracker paused again. ‘Uhh, that’s kind of what I was—,’

‘Of course what we _really_ need to consider, is if they indeed choose to rebel, it is up to us to defend ourselves, much to our chagrin. But I digress, it is indeed the Decepticon way. If you would, Thundercracker, I would like to propose a plan of my own.’

It seemed harmless enough. ‘Alright, shoot.’

As he listened to Acid Storm’s plan, Thundercracker frowned. If he didn’t know better, Thundercracker would say Acid Storm’s plan sounded almost exactly like his own, if not with a few more complex synonyms, some flowery diction, and the momentary dramatic pause between praise for the Decepticon Empire. The others appeared to have been lapping the slag up.

‘Well?’ Acid Storm said, turning to the crowd. ‘Would that be suitable for the rest of you?’

The legions of seekers, perhaps only half listening, nodded in vague agreement.

Acid Storm smiled. ‘Excellent,’ he patted Thundercracker on the back before continuing onto the bridge’s control booth. He muttered to the Aerospace Commander, ‘Don’t be afraid to ask for help, Thundercracker. There’s no shame in what you are.’

But this only left Thundercracker feeling useless and upset. He was the one in charge here. He was the one above them all. And he was especially above a generic rainmaker like Acid Storm.

‘How’s it feel to get owned by a guy whose entire shtick is that he leaks slime?’

‘Shut up, Slipstream.’

She shrugged. ‘Like, okay, but I’m just saying—you’re really good at making yourself look inferior to the things around you.’ She began extending a digit towards random people and objects, counting them off. ‘That guy with only one wing—better than you. That data console—better than you. Even that lamp over there is probably more useful than you are.’

Thundercracker raised a palm to his forehead. ‘Then maybe that has to change…’

‘What. You mean you’re going to break the lamp?’ She shook her head. ‘Not cool, man. What did that lamp ever do to you? It’s just trying to live it’s lamp-life. Graduate from lamp-college...’

‘No! I—,’ he stormed off to the bridge’s exit. ‘I don’t know why I still bother talking to you.’

She blinked at the Aerospace commander and shrugged. ‘It’s obviously because you have mega-repressed feelings for me—despite me not being entirely there all the time.’ She stopped and blinked once more, realizing Thundercracker had already left the bridge. ‘Who am I talking to again?’

\-----

                Thrust gestured to the rows of glass rooms as he and Dirge led Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz down the hall. Optimus had decided that if he could accomplish anything here, he could at least find the one calling for help. If he could save at least one person, it would be worth it. Each room looked even more like a cell than the last. There was a recharge slab and some electronics (which Thrust called “learning modules”). Though Optimus was forced to admit there was a suitable amount of space for the alt-modes. He also had to admit very few of them seemed unhappy. Not to say they were happy either. They simply… were. Most stood at attention. Others flexed their bodies and showed off their built-in weaponry with pride. There were a great many that reveled in being weapons to be sold for war. It made Optimus sick to his fuel-pump.

                ‘Holy slag, Optimus,’ Blackarachnia observed, ‘these cells are nicer than my bedroom.’

                ‘Your room _is_ a cell,’ Ironhide reminded her. ‘There’s not a lot to compare.’

                ‘These aren’t cells, period,’ Thrust gruffed. ‘Our products are raised with all the required necessities.’

                Jazz raised a digit to the cone-head. ‘You _do_ hear yourself, right? Calling them products... You can’t tell me you don’t get how messed up that sounds.’

                ‘What else should I call it? That’s what they are, aren’t they? Products. Right Dirge?’

                The quieter of the two nodded slowly. ‘Right.’

                ‘Right.’

                Ironhide clenched a fist. ‘I know what _I’d_ call it…’

                Jazz placed a hand on Ironhide’s shoulder. ‘Don’t, Ironhide.’

                ‘I ought to blow this whole place to cinders, Jazz. Spare everyone the indignity.’

                ‘I know. You’re right to be angry. I’m angry too. But we both know that aint gonna solve a thing. Just keep it on the down low until we figure something out.’

                Ironhide let out a compliant grunt.

                ‘Why are they all locked in?’ Optimus asked, massaging his head wearily.

                Thrust grimaced. ‘Well, we didn’t always lock them in. Not until one of our more… unruly products decided to escape.’

                ‘They were just misguided,’ Dirge muttered. ‘They don’t realize they are supposed to fear death, rather than dive into it head-first.’

                ‘Sounds like they don’t want to be here,’ Blackarachnia muttered as she observed the cells’ occupants.

                ‘Did you ever want to be in school?’ Thrust asked. ‘No? Exactly. Same difference. Speaking of, we should be approaching the cell of those same misbehaved students just now.’

                Suddenly, Optimus fell to his knees. Pain searing through his skull. Ironhide grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him up.

                ‘Again?’

                Optimus nodded. ‘It’s fine, it’s just…’

                A light yelp came from a nearby room, and Thrust raced over to see what was the matter. ‘Oh, B-34. Another head-spasm, eh? I thought we cured that.’

                ‘B-thirty—,’ Optimus walked slowly towards the room. His head pounding as he got closer. ‘You’re the one…’

                He placed his hands on the glass separating himself from the purple and red flier kneeling in the room. ‘You’re the one calling for help…’

                Blackarachnia raised a claw to the flier. ‘So she’s…?’

                Optimus nodded slowly.

                Airazor watched Optimus carefully.

                ‘Hands off the glass, freak!’ Bumblebee called from a neighboring cell. ‘You couldn’t afford her.’

                Optimus turned to Thrust. ‘How much does she cost?’

                ‘About a star-system’s worth,’ the cone-head said bluntly.

                ‘What?!’ Ironhide gasped. ‘We don’t have that kind of cred! Nobody has that kind of cred! Just what the hell do you think you are trying to pull—?!’

                Thrust shrugged. ‘Well, no. No individual can. You see, not just anyone can come in here and make a purchase on their own. We have world government’s signing up to get in on this action. And ol’ B-34 here happens to be one of our most popular bids.’ He smirked. ‘Do you really think a couple of supposed-to-be-dead Autobots can compete with galactic conquistadors and sentient space-giants?’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Yeah, didn’t think so.’

                Prime’s hand slipped from the glass. He bowed his head.

                ‘What do we do now, chief?’ Jazz asked, quietly.

                He inhaled deeply. ‘We head back to the Ark.’ As he locked eyes with Airazor, he squinted. ‘Can she hear me?’

                ‘Yeah,’ Thrust said. ‘Why?’

                Optimus rested a hand on the glass. ‘Quit calling for help. You don’t need to do that anymore, it---,’ pain surged through his helm once again. ‘It’s pointless to do so now. Just… turn off your radio. Never turn it on again. Stop calling for help. Just… stop.’

                With that, the pain began to fade, and Optimus gestured to the others to leave.

                ‘Thanks for the hospitality, cats,’ Jazz said as he passed by Thrust and Dirge.

                ‘Don’t be nice to them!’ Blackarachnia snapped.

                Jazz raised his palms, ‘Okay, I was just being polite. Chill.’

                As they left, and the cone-heads returned to their regular scheduled duties, Bumblebee spoke.

                ‘Is everything alright?’

                Airazor shook her head.

                ‘What? Was it something that big red guy said? Forget about him.’

                ‘No it’s—I mean, yes. It is. I just…’ she shook her head. ‘I never knew this is what being told it was hopeless would feel like.’


	66. Knight

Thundercracker frowned over Roadgrabber’s reports. The Aerospace Commander’s office was cramped. Barely any larger than that of his previous offices in his previous lines of work. He was still trying to figure out how Starscream hadn’t complained to him about it. The reports were the same. He respected the organics of Vegallion III. But Thundercracker knew they had nothing on the Decepticons. They were, when you came down to it, militarily superior in every sense. It should only have been a matter of hours before they had what they wanted. Acid Storm’s speeches of diplomacy had taken hold of the rest of the Seekers. He wanted to solve the situation through words alone, and had still been attempting to negotiate with the planet’s inhabitants.

That wasn’t how the Decepticons typically worked. Thundercracker hated using force to solve his problems. Truly he did. But this was not going to solve a thing. They needed to take action. The organics were beneath them. A simple showing of their firepower would be enough to convince them of that. He didn’t mean to kill anyone, of course. He didn’t intend to kill anyone ever again. But he needed to find Obsidian. They had, after all, unfinished business.

He closed his data-pad and stared at his empty desk. He wasn’t in a good mood. That was normal, but lately he had been in a worse mood than ever before. He had a comfortable position as Aerospace Commander. He had a legion of troops to command. He even had Skywarp back. But it was nothing he had actually wanted. Not truly.

He rose to his feet. Normally when he was feeling down he would turn to Skywarp for comfort. He was his friend of decades. He was the one who could help. He was always there for him.

Wasn’t he?

Thundercracker made his way to the main bridge. He looked around. The bridge was populated with several faceless Seekers. None of them meant a thing to Thundercracker. There was only a few—maybe only one, that really mattered anymore.

‘You,’ he snapped to the nearest seeker.

They flinched, turned around and rose to their feet. They saluted obediently. ‘Nacelle reporting, Aerospace Commander Thundercracker.’

He was never going to get used to that. ‘Where is Slipstream?’

He blinked. ‘Er… excellent question, sir. I think I last saw her talking to Skywarp on the bridge. He should know where she is.’

Thundercracker nodded. ‘Thank you, Nacelle. Now back to work.’

He proceeded out of the bridge and into the main corridor. Skywarp’s room was only a door away from his own. He remembered when they used to share hab-suites, but considering their new-found promotions, that was no longer necessary. He wasn’t sure he missed it. As he approached the room, he heard the sound of metal clanging against metal. He recognized it well.

Thundercracker burst into a sprint, slamming open the door with his shoulder and skidding to a halt into the room.

Skywarp drop-kicked Slipstream’s head, sending sparks and saliva streaming through the air as she fell back. Her face a cold mask.

The purple seeker ripped her off the ground and delivered an uppercut to her chin, sending a few teeth dashing from her skull. She fell onto her back, arms and legs splayed out as if about to form some kind of demented snow-angel.

Skywarp wiped some liquid from his knuckles and turned to Thundercracker, beaming. ‘Sup TC. The runt thought she could act tough. Hah! Called me names and everything.’ He kicked the prone seeker in the gut before sniggering again. ‘What she didn’t know is that nobody messes with Thundercracker and Skywarp, am I right, or am I right?’

Thundercracker approached the seeker, teeth clenched.

‘Hey man, what’s with the loo—‘

Thundercracker cracked his fist across Skywarp’s face, sending the seeker barreling backwards and stumbling over his own legs. He grabbed the wall for support and maintained his balance before he could fall. He blinked in Thundercracker’s direction, then squinted.

‘Are you… are you really Thundercracker?’

‘YES!’ he shouted. ‘YES! I am Aerospace Commander Thundercracker! And I order you to tell me what the HELL you were thinking!’

Skywarp shrugged. ‘I was just having some fun. Remember fun? We used to do this sort of slag to the cone-heads all the time. I mean, you always stood there and watched, but you never, you know, complained about it.’ He frowned. ‘You’ve changed, Thundercracker.’

‘You’re right,’ he clenched his fists as he approached the seeker. ‘For the better.’

Skywarp puffed his chest, air venting from his nasal cavity. ‘So this is it, eh? This is where it finally happens?’

‘How what happens?’

‘To be honest, Thunders, I’ve been hoping I’d someday get to wreck that spotless steel face of yours.’ He shoved Thundercracker by the shoulders. ‘Come on then. Hit me again. Hit me again, and see what happens.’ He shoved him again.

But Thundercracker only stared at the purple seeker. ‘I’m not going to fight you.’

Skywarp scoffed. ‘Right. Because of the whole pacifism thing. You know, Thundercracker? It gets old. All of it.’ He shook his head at the thought. ‘Acting you’re above everyone else? Pretending like you’re some kind of special snowflake just because you detest killing? Pretending to be “conflicted” and “morally complicated”—we’ve all seen it done before. It’s doesn’t make you any more interesting or any more special than the rest of us.’ He lost his grin. ‘None of us were born sadists, Thundercracker. We just learned to do our jobs without complaint. Sometimes having fun with it makes it easier. Sometimes losing the emotional attachment to the problem makes things better for everyone. But because _you_ never learned to let go you think you’ve somehow excelled beyond the rest of us.’ He pressed the tip of his index finger hard into Thundercracker’s chest.’ The real pile of slag around here isn’t me, or Acid Storm, or even _Starscream._ It’s you, Thunders. It’s always been you!’

Thundercracker just stared. ‘For the record, Skywarp. I’m not going to fight you—not because I’m a pacifist—but because the next time someone caves your skull in…’ he took a step forward until his nose was inches from Skywarp’s, ‘nobody is going to be there to bring you back.’

The two stared at each other for what felt like minutes. Until—

_VOMP._

Skywarp was gone in a flash of purple energy.

Thundercracker moved over to Slipstream. Staring down at her as she grinned back up at him.

‘Heyhey! Check out the white-knight! Saving the day for the attractive young beauty.’

‘Slipstream, half of your face is missing, and you haven’t bathed since we met. You are quite possibly the ugliest thing on this ship.’

She pouted. ‘I like to think inner beauty is what really matters.’

Thundercracker thought about this for a moment. ‘I think you would find better luck advertising your looks, in that case.’

‘Wow. Wow. Wow. You insulting _me_ this time? You _know_ I can dish it out, but can never take the heat.’ Thundercracker offered his hand, and Slipstream pulled herself up with it. She sighed. ‘If I was allowed guns you’d have been shot by now.’

‘There is a reason you aren’t allowed guns,’ Thundercracker reminded her. ‘You almost killed me that one time when Obsidian and I—,’ he paused.

Slipstream stared down at their hands. ‘You’re still holding my hand.’ She quickly released his grip. ‘Aww, man. This is super awkward, but I totally don’t reciprocate your feelings. Sorry bud. Feelings or no, I can’t go out with someone who sucks eggs. It just wouldn’t work out.’

Thundercracker waved an angry servo. ‘No. Idiot. I just remembered something important. Something stupid.’ He turned to the door and began to make his way back into the hallway. ‘Remember when Obsidian was trying to kill me and then you showed up with a gun, and the two of us kind of just forgot about it because you were probably going to hurt somebody if we didn’t do something about it?’

‘Dude, I don’t even remember my own name half the time.’

‘Oh forget it. Just follow me.’

\-----

                Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz drove down the thin steel road leading to Lockdown’s ship. There was silence. For a time.

                ‘Okay, look.’ Blackarachnia leaned over Ironhide’s vehicle mode to Optimus. ‘I know what you’re thinking. If you’re not thinking it, good. Great, even. But I _know_ you, Optimus. And I know you’re going to want to save those kids back there.’

                ‘We have to, Blackarachnia.’

                ‘Actually, no. We don’t.’ She sighed as she leaned back against Ironhide’s cannon. ‘Look, the last time we were in a mess as big as this we had no means of escape. Right now—this moment we have right here—we actually _can_ escape. We fixed your head problem—now we only need to hop back on the Ark and ship Flipsides back to Chromia. Boom, happy endings for everyone.’

                ‘Except for the hundred or so sparklings we’re abandoning to their fates.’

                Blackarachnia shrugged. ‘What does any of it mean to us? It’s not our business, is it?’

                ‘If we don’t do something, no one will.’ Ironhide grunted. ‘We’re going to save them all. It’s the Autobot way.’

                Blackarachnia frowned. ‘Right. Because we’re Autobots… every last one of us.’

                Optimus sighed. ‘Blackarachnia, listen—,’

                ‘No, _you_ listen!’ she jabbed her claw at the truck. ‘Do you know how close we were to losing you last time? You almost died—you _did_ die! And before that we were lucky to get out of the Crystal City at all! You’ve seen Lockdown. You know we can’t counter that.’ She flung her claws into the air. ‘For once we don’t have a massive bounty on our heads. For _once_ we don’t have to fear _death_ every second of the day. We do this we could have the entire Imperium after us. I’m not ready to seek out death just yet, Optimus. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for the Spacefarers to lose another member so soon.’

                Optimus was quiet. ‘You _know_ I’d only put my life on the line if it was for something great, Blackarachnia.’ He paused again. ‘There are hundreds of lives at stake here. I think if any life is worth living, spending it protecting that many people would be pretty alright by me.’

                Blackarachnia sighed. ‘You say that without considering how the rest of us might feel.’

                The Ark was now visible in the distance. Tucked away discreetly beneath Lockdown’s ship. ‘We’ve risked our lives before,’ Ironhide told her. ‘We’ll do it again, and again, until we make it right. I have no objections to doing the right thing, and neither should you.’

                ‘I appreciate your concern, Blackarachnia,’ Optimus said. ‘But this is more important than any of us. Tell her, Jazz.’

                ‘Actually…’ Jazz stopped and transformed. ‘I think you should hear her out.’

                Optimus and Ironhide transformed and stared back at the Lieutenant. ‘What?’

                ‘I think she’s right. I aint any happier about what’s going on ‘round here than the two of you, but we really shouldn’t be sticking our noses in trouble, y’dig?’

                Blackarachnia splayed a claw to the lieutenant. ‘Exactly! Thank you! See? Even Smiles gets it!’

                Ironhide approached the spec-ops agent, steam exerting from his maw. ‘You would leave these young-bots to die?’ He spat at the ground by Jazz’s feet. ‘And you call yourself an Autobot.’

                Jazz’s visor flared. He pressed a finger against Ironhide’s chest. ‘You _know_ that I’ve done more for the Autobot cause than _anything_ you—,’ his arm dropped to his side, ‘oh forget it!’ He massaged his forehead. ‘Look. This goes way beyond anything we’ve dealt with before. This isn’t our business anymore, it’s the Imperium’s business. If we destroy one of their institutions—if a Prime is responsible for the destruction of one of their institutions—then they are gonna turn to Autobot High Command for answers.’

                Blackarachnia folded her arms. ‘Oh, so this isn’t _about our_ safety. This is about the sanctity of your precious higher ups.’

                Jazz turned to her. ‘Actually, BA, it is. The Imperium could see this as an act of war. If they set out against the Hub, then that’s it. The Autobots are done. We can’t handle having two armies against us, Chief. And as much as we like to jive outside of Magnus’s jurisdiction, we _aren’t_ exactly on good terms with anybody else. Doing this could actually cause the Autobots to lose the war. That’s all I’m going to say.’

                Optimus stared at him. ‘You _know_ I appreciate your input, Jazz.’

                ‘I’m your chief advisor, Chief. You know I would only suggest—,’

                ‘But we’re saving the orphans.’ Prime brought a hand to his helm. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s what we’re doing. If you don’t want to help us save the orphans from being turned into weapons of war, then you and Blackarachnia can stay on the ship.’ He looked over and stared at the Ark in question.

                Jazz sighed. ‘When you word it like that, chief? You _know_ I’m going to have to give you a hand with this.’

                Blackarachnia nodded. ‘Yeah. Same. It’s not like we really have a choice, but still. If we’re doing this, we might as well do it right.’

                Prime raised a hand. ‘Shh.’

                ‘Wow, rude. Even after I agreed to—,’

                ‘No. Just—wait. Blackarachnia, did you leave the Ark’s ramp open?’

                ‘What? No. Probably. Wait, why are you asking me?’ She gazed at the Ark to find its main ramp wide open, exposing its inner workings. Blackarachnia groaned. ‘Is it because I forgot to turn off the lights that one time? Because I thought we were over that.’

                Optimus merely sighed and transformed back into his vehicle mode. ‘Come on, quickly. Something might have… happened.’

                Jazz and Ironhide followed suite. The former asked, ‘Something? Something like what?’

                As they entered the ramp, it soon became evident that they were not the only ones aboard the Ark.  Claw marks patterned the walls. Every door they passed had been ripped open if not completely detached from the walls. Grime coated the flooring panels and splashed onto Prime’s wheels as he crossed over it. ‘Whoever did this to my ship is going to pay,’ Optimus muttered.

                ‘Keep cool, Chief.’ Jazz whispered as they approached the bridge. ‘Whoever’s responsible for this could be nearby.’

                As they entered the bridge, Prime’s fears had become a reality.

                About a dozen of large Cybertronians of varying shaped stood around the bridge’s perimeter. The red and blue robots that had held them at gun-point earlier were among them.

                Sitting in the captain’s chair was the largest of the group. The chair rotated, revealing the robot in question.

                ‘Grimlock…’ Optimus muttered.

                ‘That’s my name.’ The ghost of a smile seemed to part on the goliath’s faceplate as he rose to his feet. After a moment of silence, Grimlock spread his arms wide. His voice was low, gravelly, and peppered with snorts and growls. ‘Welcome to my new base of operations, Optimus.’


	67. New Finds

Optimus, while greatly upset by the conquering of his ship, was pleasantly surprised to find he had not been decapitated, bisected, or even torn limb from limb upon attempting to negotiate with the Dinobot commander. It was soon clear there was no room to negotiate. The Ark was the Dinobots’ now. He only had to deal with it. For however long that took. He sat alone in his quarters now, while Jazz took over negotiations. He needed to be alone. Even if that wasn’t necessarily the case.  
  
Megatron laughed, ‘So this is how the great Optimus Prime copes with defeat? He gets shown up by _one_ Dinobot and his primary course of action is to sulk in his quarters alone?’ He splayed his arms wide. ‘Man up, Prime! You killed me—you could probably do the same to Grimlock. Primus knows he deserves it. Primus knows he’s killed nearly as many as I have.’  
  
‘No. No. Shut up.’ Prime waved a hand through the hallucination. ‘Killing you was a mistake. I’m not doing it again. I promised myself that.’  
  
Megatron’s grin quickly vanished. He raised his upper lip in what seemed to be disgust. ‘Spoilsport.’ He paced left and right in front of the Prime as he sat up from his berth. ‘You should still probably do something about it. I mean look at him… he’s made a complete fool out of you. Optimus Prime? More like Optimus Grime. Because that’s what he’s made you. Grime.’  
  
‘You know; I would think that one of my own hallucinations would be better at insulting me. Considering the whole self-loathing thing I’ve got going on and all.’  
  
‘That would imply I hate you.’  
  
‘Don’t you?’  
  
‘Well, yes. With a passion. But that still doesn’t mean I can’t steer you in the right direction. You and I are permanently connected, remember?’  
  
‘Yeah, yeah… balancing point. Whatever.’ He stood up. ‘Then what would you suggest I do—Lord Megatron?’  
  
Megatron smirked. ‘ _You_ are the Lord of the Decepticons now, remember? But either way, if killing is out of the question then I can’t say I have much left to offer.’  
  
‘Come on.’  
  
Megatron batted his palms. ‘Okay, okay. Patience. How about this. You go see what the Dinobots want, and I will try to think of a solution that doesn’t involve violence, or negotiation. But, spoiler alert, it doesn’t exist.’  
  
Optimus sighed and turned to the door to his quarters. Megatron had disappeared. Which should have been a good thing, but in truth it only made Optimus feel more alone.  
  
\-----  
  
‘Okay,’ Jazz said, standing at the foot of the war-table with Grimlock and the other head-Dinobots. The spec-ops agent was the shortest of the bunch. Jazz recognized the two positioned next to him as Swoop and Sludge. ‘So the prison ward is yours to keep. That’s fair. I can dig it. It just means Blackarachnia will have to bunk with one of us. So what about our hab-suites? Can we at least still keep those, or--?’  
  
‘Nnnnope,’ said Swoop. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to need those as well. Sorry pal. That’s just how it’s gonna be.’  
  
Jazz winced. ‘Aw what? Who’s gonna need those?’  
  
‘Me,’ said the Dinobot Leader. ‘Grimlock.’  
  
‘Oookay. But then who’s using the spare rooms that are leftover?’  
  
‘Me,’ said Grimlock. ‘Grimlock.’  
  
‘Ah.’ Jazz nodded, then leaned over to the tallest of the Dinobots: Sludge and whispered. _‘He’s really got a thing for saying his own name, doesn’t he?’_  
  
The Dinobot only shrugged.  
  
\-----  
  
Ironhide stood leaning against the door to the war room with his arms folded. He snorted as a group of mechanical raptors sprinted by. ‘Back in my day, the Dinobots were only five guys. No more. No less.’  
  
Strafe, Blackarachnia, and Scorn stood with him. Watching the raptors as they disappeared around a corner. Strafe bounced on her heels. She was the same blue Dinobot that had held them at gunpoint earlier in the day, just as Scorn was the red one. ‘Yeah, the Dinobots have kind of… broadened their horizons since the Surge.’ She scratched the back of her head in thought. ‘I mean, I’m pretty new, so I don’t know all the details, but Grimlock’s kind of trying to rebuild the Dinobot empire since it went virtually extinct all those decades ago. Believe it or not we Dinobots have kind of been treated poorly, and—,’  
  
‘Strafe!’ Scorn boomed.  
  
She blinked at him. ‘What? Oh. Right. I forgot we weren’t supposed to mention the boss’s plans.’ She turned back to Ironhide and Blackarachnia. ‘So yeah, whoops. Grimlock wants to rebuild Dinobot society and maybe take over the galaxy with it. That’s us. That’s what we’re doing.’  
  
Blackarachnia shrugged. ‘I really couldn’t care less. Seriously, at this point all I really care about is whether I’m losing my home or not.’  
  
Strafe shrugged back. ‘Yeah, again, I’m kind of new so I don’t really know how these guys operate.’  
  
Ironhide grunted. ‘Which brings me to question: I understand that with the absence of Slug and Snarl, Grimlock needed to rebuild his numbers somehow—but your tribe faced near-extinction during the Dinobot Holocaust back on Cybertron. Grimlock is one of the few of his kind still alive—in fact, it was thought that the original five members were all that was left. So how is it that he was able to uncover so many of you?’  
  
Strafe shrugged once more. ‘He just… found us. We’ve been around. Believe it or not. Grimlock’s good at attaining followers. There’s a reason we call him King Grimlock, after all.’  
  
As if on cue, the doors to the war room parted, and Grimlock, followed by Swoop, Sludge and Jazz, stepped out.  
  
Jazz waved at the others, massaging his arm in defeat. ‘So basically we’re allowed to stay, but—,’  
  
‘But you guys are gonna have to help us with what we’ve got planned,’ Swoop finished, then turned to Strafe, grinned, and noogied her on the head. ‘Heya sport, keeping the Autobots busy are ya?’  
  
Strafe chuckled as she shrugged off Swoop’s noogy. ‘Yeah, yeah.’  
  
Ironhide and Blackarachnia looked up at Grimlock. The giant stood there, silently. Then, slowly, he turned his head to them. A sudden flash in his visor, and Grimlock quickly thrust his arm at Ironhide.  
  
And grabbed him by the shoulder.  
  
‘Ironhide!’ Grimlock exclaimed. ‘It’s good to see you again!’  
  
Ironhide merely blinked in shock.  
  
‘It’s been too long since we last kicked ass together. Remember Diatrine? I remember Diatrine. Hell, I still remember when you blew apart that Decepticon war-turret with a single shot! There’s still shrapnel lodged in my tail from that turret shell when we mistakenly thought the coast was clear.’ He let out a bellowing laugh as he patted the weapons-specialist on the back. ‘We should catch up. I always did think you had more Dinobot blood in you than Autobot. In fact, I can introduce you to this process that—’ he cut himself short as he peered over Ironhide’s shoulder. ‘Who’s this?’  
  
Ironhide turned from Blackarachnia to Grimlock. ‘Oh, this is… Blackarachnia. She’s kind of our prisoner?’  
  
‘Prisoner?’  
  
‘Well, not really. Not anymore. She’s an ex-Decepticon that kind of ended up working for us.’  
  
‘Ex-Decepticon?’  
  
‘Er… yeah.’  
  
‘Is that so…?’ Grimlock’s visor appeared to narrow as he approached her.  
  
Ironhide quickly stuck a hand in Grimlock’s direction. ‘Grimlock—listen to me. I know how this might look, but Blackarachnia’s one of us. She is as much a member of our team as Jazz or I. She’s not a threat. She’s good… she’s good.’  
  
Grimlock shoved Ironhide out of the way and grabbed Blackarachnia by the shoulders.  
  
Blackarachnia braced for whatever was about to happen.  
  
‘Ex-Decepticon?!’ Suddenly, he laughed. ‘Then that makes two of us!’  
  
Blackarachnia’s four optics blinked in unison. ‘You? You used to be a Decepticon?’  
  
‘Back when I was weak, stupid, and greatly misinformed about the world, yes. Welcome to the winning team! It’s good to meet someone else who has seen the light! Just try to keep up with the rest of us, yeah?’  
  
Blackarachnia blinked once more. ‘Uh… cool.’  
  
Grimlock turned to the others. ‘This is good. This is _really_ good. I love it when old friends come to visit. Swindle really doesn't know what's coming for him now.’  
  
Blackarachnia leaned over to Ironhide and whispered. _‘Okay, so is it just me, or is Grimlock actually really cool?’_  
  
 _‘Yeah… he’s not usually this chipper. He must be confident in what he’s got planned.’_  
  
Jazz raised his hand. ‘Yeahhh, so would it be cool if I asked a question? Yeah? Yes? Cool. So what’s the scoop on this “plan” you guys’ve been chattering on about? What are you actually planning to do?’  
  
‘We’re gonna steal Swindle’s riches.’ Swoop said, proudly. ‘See, normally we don’t negotiate with Decepticons…’  
  
‘We don’t,’ Grimlock growled. ‘We should never have spoken to him in the first place.’  
  
Swoop nodded at his leader. ‘Exactly. But we did, and we got ripped off. So, we demanded a refund, as one does, only he decided he felt “threatened”, and hired a bounty hunter to take us in and dismantle our ship.’  
  
Strafe stepped forward. ‘He was planning on selling Grimlock to the highest bidder. Apparently he couldn’t just kill us. He needed to humiliate us, too. Starting with Grimlock. Well, starting with our ship in order to strand us here, but _then_ starting with Grimlock.’  
  
The Dinobot in question clenched his fist and growled. ‘That bounty hunter got lucky. Next time will be different. Next time there will be nothing left of him.’  
  
Their gazes turned collectively to the opposite end of the corridor as Optimus advanced towards them. Before anyone could greet him, Grimlock did it for them. He crossed his arms as Optimus drew near. ‘Optimus Prime…’ he muttered. ‘Done hiding? Done fearing from the reality of the situation?’  
  
Optimus stared up at the giant. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’  
  
‘Funny. It seemed like it.’ Grimlock looked to the side. ‘I was just explaining to my new soldiers what we are planning on doing here. We’re going to destroy Swindle’s security measures and steal whatever we can from under his nose. You will be helping us, of course.’ He dipped his head closer to the Prime. ‘Unless you have anything to say about it.’  
  
Prime’s eyes narrowed. ‘No. I don’t.’  
  
Grimlock reared his head back and snorted. ‘Really? That’s it? Just like that you’re surrendering to me? You’re _weak_.’ He shook his head. ‘I expected something else from you, Optimus. You killing Megatron the way you did… I didn’t think you had it in you.’ He turned back to him. ‘Let’s see if you can keep up that sort of mentality when the action starts.’ He proceeded to turn his back to Optimus and make his way down to the opposite end of the corridor. ‘Oh, and one last thing,’ he said, briefly looking back. ‘You _are_ afraid of me. At least you should be. And if you’re not, then you’re the dumbest idiot out of anyone here. And, laughably, Dinobots aren’t typically known for their intellect.’ In seconds, Grimlock made his way down the passage and around a corner; out of sight.  
  
Optimus, in turn, went the opposite direction, disappearing into the distance.  
  
Blackarachnia turned to the others. ‘So, uh, what’s the history between those two?’  
  
‘They were gladiators,’ Jazz said. ‘Both of them. Before Optimus was stationed on Earth, he participated in gladiatorial sport with a bunch’ve other sympathizers of the Decepticon cause. He and Grimlock had some… conflicting ideas as to whether death should have been considered a suitable punishment towards the losers or not.’  
  
‘I can… kind of see how that worked itself out.’  
  
‘So to settle it, they entered the ring themselves.’  
  
‘And Optimus got his arse kicked?’ Blackarachnia asked.  
  
‘On the contrary,’ Jazz said. ‘surprisingly, the chief won. He humiliated Grimlock in front of everyone. He managed to beat him at his own game, and ol’ Grim never lived it down.’  
  
\-----  
  
‘Aw dude, don’t take me to your creepy, weird spark-bonding dungeon. Nobody wants to see that.’  
  
‘Shut up. I told you that’s not where we’re going. Literally how haven’t you realized where we’re headed by now?’  
  
Thundercracker and Slipstream rounded a corner and headed towards a small room which, by all appearances, did not seem at all unique to the thousands of other rooms the Nemesis had to offer.  
  
‘Here it is,’ Thundercracker said, ‘back when you nearly shot me, Obsidian was actually trying to, um, shoot me.’ The doors automatically parted as he entered the room and felt the wall for a light. ‘Which in hindsight means you technically saved my life, but let’s not get into that right now. Right now we need to search the area for clues as to where Obsidian might be headed.’ The room was illuminated by an overhead lamp. The room was actually fairly standard, with a desk, a chair, and a recharge slab. On the desk appeared to be some kind of equipment. Thundercracker continued, ‘I walked in on Obsidian contacting somebody—probably Charger—about something. Probably their plans to make Optimus Decepticon Leader.’  
  
Slipstream paused. ‘Wait, what?’  
  
Thundercracker had begun examining the equipment as he craned his head back to her. ‘Oh right, I forgot I never told you about that. I actually haven’t told anyone for that matter.’ He looked back at the equipment. ‘Obsidian’s plan was to make Optimus leader of the Decepticons. It’s apparently his right, or something. I don’t think that makes it okay, but…’ he thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Starscream about it. I guess it’s because I knew it would mean killing Obsidian, and as much as I hate the guy, he’s still… I don’t know.’ He almost smirked. He was really close to saying family. ‘Part of me feels like he doesn’t deserve it. He wasn’t really nefarious. Not really. He just wanted the best for the Decepticons. As backward as his logic may have seemed at the time.’ He looked away from the equipment once more. ‘It’s all defunct comms equipment here. What are you looking at?’  
  
Slipstream had her head buried in a storage container—built into the side of the wall like a walk-in closet. She was mumbling something as Thundercracker spoke to her. ‘I dunno. What’s a suicide note look like?’  
  
Thundercracker paused. ‘Usually a slab of metal with some letters carved into it, I would think.’  
  
‘Oh,’ Slipstream tugged at something inside the storage unit and pulled out what at first glance appeared to be a slab of oddly-shaped scrap. ‘Then this is definitely a bisected corpse.’  
  
Thundercracker’s optics widened as he jogged over to the seeker. ‘What?!’ It was indeed the remains of a body. Whoever they were, they had been bisected horizontally, not vertically, as only the legs and crotch of the body were present. ‘What did—who did—did Obsidian do this?!’  
  
Slipstream shrugged. ‘I ‘unno.’  
  
Thundercracker gazed into the storage unit. It was modeled with a number of shelves, each weighing medals, trophies, and other awards attributed to Obsidian. On one shelf was a picture, framed with a number of Decepticons Thundercracker vaguely recognized. Obsidian was not present in the frame, which brought Thundercracker to question why he was in possession of such an object in the first place. The storage unit did not appear to have the remaining half of the corpse either, which made him frown. ‘It makes you wonder…’ he looked down at the pair of legs, his frown deepening. ‘Where the rest of this guy is right now…’  
  
Slipstream shrugged again. ‘I dunno. I guess Obsidian had a use for him or something. Probably for dirty-stuff. Yeah, that sounds like him.’  
  
That just made Thundercracker’s fuel-tank gurgle. ‘That’s it. I take it back. I take back everything good I ever said about him. Harboring corpses is inexcusable.’ He brought a hand in his chin, barely containing his rage. ‘But what does this tell us? What can we infer from this about Obsidian’s location?’  
  
‘Nothing, I think.’ Slipstream said.  
  
‘I… hate that you’re right. If anything this just makes him even less predictable.’ He turned to exit the room. ‘Come on, there’s a few things I need to take care of at the command-deck. I’ll get someone to retrieve and examine the body while we’re there. See who it might be—,’  
  
‘I don’t think it’s worth hating him.’  
  
Thundercracker raised a brow as they exited into the corridor. ‘What?’  
  
‘Things were waaaaayyy cooler with him around. Strika too. Everyone around here is… boring.’  
  
Thundercracker stared at her for a moment, then looked forward. ‘You mean you miss them.’  
  
‘Yeah, but my aims getting better.’  
  
‘Funny. I miss them too, though. It was better when it was the five of us.’ He paused. ‘It was better without Skywarp, too.’  
  
‘Things were always better at some point in the past. New friends will always be a blessing, but old friends bring you back to a time. And you cannot contest that, especially when you were happier in the time before than in the present time.' She tilted her head slightly. 'But sometimes you cannot return to such things, and though it may make them even more desirable, you need to learn to let go of that. To experience new things, while remembering the old. To face the unknown with the knowledge you have gained from your past mistakes and failings. Because without those mistakes, you can’t learn from them and improve yourself as a person.’  
  
Thundercracker stopped walking. ‘Slipstream.’  
  
She stopped moving as well. ‘Yo.’  
  
Neither looked at each other. They stood side-by-side, staring into the distance.  
  
‘That was really sane of you.’  
  
She smirked, ‘Yeah, well, that’s just how good I am. I’m the smartest person here, y’know. Being around you blokes just hurts my brain’s ability to—,’  
  
‘No, I mean that was _really_ sane of you. Smart even. Really smart.’ He looked at her and gawked. ‘Slipstream, are you sane again? Are you healed?’  
  
She stared, blinking every few seconds. ‘Hey… don’t tell me to heel. I aint no dog. Why don’t you go fetch! Fetch yourself some common sense and… and self-respect!’  
  
Thundercracker narrowed his eyes at her and continued walking. ‘Maybe not yet. But you are getting better.’ He considered this as Slipstream hobbled alongside him. ‘Slowly.’  
  
\-----  
  
Airazor was silent in the claustrophobia inducing tightness of her cell. It was worse for her than the others since she could fly. Regardless she never complained about it. She was, for the most part, silent. Bee was used to it, really. Airazor only ever spoke to him, and when she did speak to him it was always short and to the point. She always appeared impersonal to the untrained eye, but Bee could always tell the difference between when she was really being impersonal, and when she was just being herself.  
  
‘You ever going to speak to me again? Or is this you adding a whole ‘nother layer of the silent treatment to our friendship. Because honestly, I didn’t expect you to get much quieter than you already were.’  
  
Airazor didn’t answer.  
  
‘You shouldn’t listen to that guy, you know. There’s always hope. Hope exists.’  
  
She remained silent.  
  
Bumblebee sighed as he scratched the back of his head. ‘Ah geez, I don’t know how to get through to you. You’re the only one I ever talk to and I still don’t know how to get through to you. That’s a little pathetic on my part, isn’t it?’  
  
She didn’t answer.  
  
‘Yeah, I know you’d disagree, but I’m going to take that silence as an agreement on my ineptitude anyway. See, you’re making me depressed. Me, cheerful, funny, awesome, Bumblebee: now has depression. I hope you’re happy about that, because I’m just over the moon about it, I’ll tell you what.’  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.  
  
‘Darn, so close.’ Bumblebee smirked, and leaned back against the wall of his cell. ‘I do want you to speak to me, though. I do enough speaking. It almost gets boring listening to myself all the time. It’s great and all but I could use some kind variety, y’know?’  
  
‘Prove it.’  
  
‘Eh?’  
  
Airazor turned to face Bee’s cell. ‘Prove hope still exists for us.’  
  
‘I don’t need to. It just does.’  
  
‘How?’  
  
‘It just exists.’  
  
‘How does it “just exist?” What fundamentals—?’  
  
‘It just does.’  
  
‘Why do you think that?’  
  
‘Because I have to. Because it has to. Because _you_ have to.’  
  
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Why?’  
  
‘You just have to.’  
  
‘But—,’  
  
‘You have to, Airazor. If I do, so do you.’  
  
She opened her mouth to retort, but then silenced herself. In another moment, she spoke.  
  
‘Okay.’


	68. Preparing for Combat

                Optimus sat at the head of the war table. If only because Grimlock wasn’t already there to take the position. He sat, fingers drumming away on the edge of the circular desk that took up 75% of the room. From his left sat Jazz, Ironhide, and Blackarachnia, and from his right Swoop, Strafe, and Scorn. Swoop had been lecturing Strafe on some type of complicated flying maneuver while Jazz, Blackarachnia and Ironhide murmured about the status of their ship once all had been sorted and dealt with. Optimus was only frustrated. He could feel Megatron laughing in the back of his head. Finally, Optimus leapt to his feet.

                ‘Okay, what the hell. He chastises _me_ for hiding or cowering or whatever. And yet _he’s_ the one we are all forced to wait for. _He’s_ the one who set up this military conference, and yet he’s the only one not to show up.’

                Swoop looked over his shoulder briefly to reply, ‘He’s busy, Optimus. He’s got some stuff he’s gotta take care of. Boxes to tick, systems to inspect, morale to uphold— uou know how it is. Leader-y junk.’

                Optimus massaged his optical lids with his forefinger and thumb. ‘I can appreciate that, Swoop. But I can’t be the only one who sees the hypocrisy in this. To make such a big deal—,’

                ‘Sludge isn’t here either,’ said Strafe, trying to sound helpful.

                ‘—out of my lack of presence only to provide the exact same lack of punctuality! It’s infuriating that someone can be that ignorant to what goes around him!’

                Jazz grabbed him by the arm. ‘Come on, chief. Try to tone it down a notch. You’re letting him get to you—you’re letting him get to you and you _know_ that’s exactly what he wants. Just take a deep breath and try to forget about it, yeah?’

                Optimus grabbed Jazz’s wrist, but he didn’t pull away. ‘Yeah… you’re right. I just—yeah…’

                Blackarachnia perked her head. ‘Say, does anyone else hear that? It sounds kind of like—‘

                The war-room’s doors flung open, as Grimlock and Sludge stormed in. ‘It sounds like me!’

                ‘Grimlock.’ The rest of the group muttered.

                The Dinobot leader pressed his hands against the foot of the table and frowned at Optimus. ‘What are you doing in my chair?’

                ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Optimus asked. Hands steepled beneath his chin as he leaned back in his seat. He held back presuming aloud that Grimlock had been cowering away somewhere.

                ‘Again, what are you doing in my chair?’

                Optimus paused. ‘Sitting in it, obviously.’

                Grimlock stared for a moment, then sat at the opposite end of the table. Sludge sat next to him. ‘Alright then.’ Though it was clear the Dinobot Commander was uncomfortable in his position. ‘Sludge and I took a shuttle to our backup ship a few planetoids away from here. Just some double-checking in case somebody had the ball-bearings to steal it. We’re all fine, obviously. There just doesn’t seem to be anybody nearby with the balls.’ He paused, and exchanged an awkward glance with Strafe. ‘Bearings. I mean. Ball- _bearings_.’

                Optimus leaned forward. ‘Anyway, you said you had a plan to… what. Raid Swindle’s keep? Break his safe?’

                ‘Oh we’ll be doing more than raiding his keep,’ Swoop exclaimed.

                Grimlock raised a hand to the aerial Dinobot. ‘Yeah, Swoop, I was just about to tell them that.’ He raised his hands to accentuate his points. ‘I heard from Scorn that you wanted to rescue all the sparklings Swindle’s got working for him. Act like a bunch of big damn heroes and everything. Whatever. Your motives are your own. I’ll be willing to let you do that. Me and my Dinobots will strike Swindle’s main generator which will—nope.’

                Optimus raised a brow. ‘What?’

                ‘Nope,’ Grimlock leaped to his feet. ‘I can’t—I just—,’ The Dinobot stormed around the table to where Optimus was sitting, and wrenched him up by the shoulders. ‘YOU’RE IN MY CHAIR!’

                ‘Wh—?!’

                Grimlock proceeded to lift Optimus high above his head before vaulting him across the room and into the wall closest to where Grimlock had been previously sitting. Optimus bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a clang, groaning in pain. Casually, Grimlock sat in “his” seat, lifting up his legs and resting them on the edge of the table, one draped over the other. Ironhide rushed over to the fallen Prime.

                ‘Optimus!’

                The Prime massaged the back of his head as he sat up. ‘I admit, I kind of already saw that coming.’

                Ironhide whispered. ‘Want me to kill him? I could. It might be messy and turn the rest of these guys against us, but if you really want me to—.’

                ‘No… NO! Ironhide, that’s…’ He looked up to see Grimlock rest his hands behind his head. He let out a yawn. ‘…ask me later.’

                Blackarachnia rose from her chair, gaping at Grimlock. ‘Hey! You can’t do that!’

                ‘I just did,’ Grimlock replied with a drawl. ‘I’m Grimlock.’

                ‘I mean, yeah. Sure buddy. Whatever works for you, but man…’ Blackarachnia dropped back into her seat, claws rested beneath her chin. ‘It’s just not as funny as when I’m the one stirring the scrap.’

                As Optimus had lifted himself onto his feet, the Dinobot Leader spoke. ‘As I was saying. Me and my Dinobots will stage an assault on Swindle’s main generator. We’ll shut off all power, including the security feeds and security systems. From there we’ll proceed to wreck everything until we find his armoury/credit depository. Meanwhile you and your team will provide a distraction.’

                ‘Well, getting other people’s attention _is_ one of our strong-suit.’ Jazz said, grinning.

                Optimus nodded slowly. ‘What do you have in mind?’

                ‘A full-scale prison-break,’ Grimlock said. ‘Break out as many as you can. Just to get Lockdown and the others off my tail. You can probably accomplish that much, can’t you?’

                ‘Hell to the yeah,’ Blackarachnia exclaimed. ‘When it comes to sowing chaos, we’re practically professionals. If chaos was a kitchen, we’d be the head chef. If chaos was an instrument we would play the heck out of—,’

                ‘We’ll do it,’ Optimus quickly interrupted. ‘It’ll solve both of our problems for sure.’

                Jazz quickly raised his palms. ‘Uhh, slow down for a klik. There’s still a problem here we’re kind of not addressing.’

                ‘Which is?’ Grimlock asked. ‘Spit it out.’

                Jazz raised a finger to Grimlock. ‘Swindle’s got immunity by the Vestial Imperium. We attack this installation and we’ll be kinda, er, screwed.’

                ‘By the Imperium?’

                ‘By the Imperium,’ he tilted his head to the others. ‘We’re gonna need a way to convince the Vesties of what’s really going on here. We’re gonna need to prove to them that what’s jiving here is _wrong.’_

‘And how can we do that?’ Optimus asked.

                Jazz motioned to Grimlock. ‘If Grim here can not only disable, but also _retrieve_ Swindle’s security footage, then we’ll have some form of evidence we can use against Swindle, should the Imperium come lookin’ to us for an explanation. We explain that Swindle’s business was impugning on the rights of Autobot citizens, and we’ll have ourselves case. Wha-bang.’

                Optimus squinted at him. ‘You don’t sound entirely sure of yourself.’

                ‘Because, technically, I’m not. When it came to the Vesties, Autobot intelligence wasn’t exactly playing the greatest game of catch-up back when I was still working for them. Their original goals were galactic co-operation through peaceful means, but as much as I hate to say it, I don’t got a clue as to how they currently operate. They might not have a problem with—hell they might even _support_ what Swindle is doing here. And if that’s the case then we really _will_ be in a jam.’

                ‘It’s a risk you’re going to have to take.’ Grimlock snorted. ‘We’ll get that footage while the rest of you create the distraction. Because really, none of you have a choice in this matter. You’re helping us. Done deal.’

                ‘There’s just one more thing,’ Jazz said.

                Grimlock loomed over the former spec-ops agent. Optics blazing red. ‘What?!’

                Jazz raised his palms in defense. ‘No need to shout. Nothing to lose your cool over. It’s just that… because the Imperium will probably run an investigation on the place after our, er… spree. In order to avoid future arrest, it would maybe be best to lay off the, y’know. Killing.’

                Blackarachnia cupped her claws around her mouth and shouted over the table. ‘Weeeeaaaaak!’

                ‘Quiet, you.’ Ironhide snapped.

                Grimlock only growled. ‘Fine.’ He rose from the table, gazing all around. ‘We all good on the plan?’

                Everyone nodded, save for Optimus.

                ‘Are we?’ Grimlock asked, eyes fixated on the Prime.

                ‘Yeah,’ Optimus said, rising to his feet. ‘We are.’

\-----

Thundercracker arrived to the bridge, prompting the salutes of the majority of the crew. Slipstream typically tottered from behind him. Acid-Storm stood watching the visuals of the planet they were to interrogate below. The Rainmaker turned to face the blue Seeker and smiled. ‘Ah, Thundercracker.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘It’s good to see you back. Genuinely. We’re making progress negotiating with the progress and…’ he paused to think. ‘And that’s it, actually.’ He turned his gaze back to the overhead visuals. ‘It’s nice working with you, you know. You’re nothing like the previous leaders of the Nemesis. Starscream… Slipstream – no offense.’

                ‘All the offense!’ Slipstream gasped.

                ‘Sunstorm… But you. You’re not some… some blathering maniac or egotistical sadist. You’re not in it to fight or kill, but that’s exactly what makes you special. You’re in it to get the job done, without all the needless bloodshed and violence. I can—that’s something I can actually _respect;_ you know?’ He hummed. ‘Before I came here, nobody used to listen to me. I always kind of… blended into the background. Now that they would actually rather listen to me than y—.’ He shut his mouth quickly, and turned to Thundercracker, bug-eyed. ‘I uh… didn’t mean it like that. You _know_ I didn’t mean it like that.’

                Thundercracker took his side in front of the visual. ‘Acid Storm.’

                ‘Thundercracker?’

                ‘I just sent Roadgrabber to interrogate the planet’s populace. They have received a message detailing what we will do to them should they not provide as much information on the Decepticon Obsidian as possible.’

                Acid Storm looked like he was about to collapse. ‘You _what?!’_

 _‘_ We won’t go through with our threats if they refuse. Probably. We’ll just drop a small nuke a few hundred kilometers away from their farthest shores. Just to show we have the capabilities to hurt them and aren’t just bluffing.’

                Acid Storm breathed heavily. ‘Thundercracker, this is—this isn’t you at all!’

                Thundercracker gazed at him carelessly. ‘You don’t know me, Acid Storm. Don’t presume you do. We need to work fast. Instead of spending weeks negotiating a transfer of information, we could simply threaten it out of them before moving on to our next destination.’

                ‘But that’s—that’s tyrannical! That’s diabolical! That’s—It’s a Starscream plan! A _Sunstorm_ plan!’

                ‘It’s a realistic plan, Acid-Storm.’

                Gritting his teeth, Acid Storm turned to the others. ‘Does everyone see this? Am I the only one seeing this?!’

                Really, the legions of seekers couldn’t care less about the green or blue guys bossing them around. Most of them were wondering what they were going to drink once they returned to Kaon.

                Acid Storm scoffed. ‘I thought you knew better, Thundercracker. Clearly I was mistaken. Clearly you think your own path is superior to my own. Hell, you were the one who let Megatron die without intervening, so—,’

                That was the last straw. Leaping forward, Thundercracker’s grip met Acid Storm’s throat, and the Rainmaker was dragged to the floor. Suddenly the watching seekers had become somewhat more interested in what was going on between “green guy” and “blue guy.” Slipstream was clapping her hands, laughing wickedly at the display.

                ‘You see!’ Acid Storm coughed. ‘You’ve been around Starscream for too long after all!’

                ‘How dare you talk down to me!’ Thundercracker snarled. ‘I was one of the Seekers Elite for centuries! I was the right hand of Starscream since the very beginning! I was one to kill Optimus Prime—the to kill the Autobot who killed Megatron! I repaid my debts! I avenged our leader! You, Acid Storm, are nothing!’

His grip tightened as Acid Storm began to choke. ‘Please… Thundercracker… you’re hurting me!’

 ‘I AM AEROSPACE COMMANDER THUNDERCRACKER! LEADER OF THE SEEKERS! RIGHT HAND TO LORD STARSCREAM! AND I—!’ Suddenly, Thundercracker dropped Acid Storm and lurched back, staring at his hands. ‘Wow.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I… wow. Maybe I _have_ been around Starscream for too long.’

                He felt a tinge of disgust from this, but before Acid Storm could comment on it, the overhead visual changed. Roadgrabber’s face replaced the planetary diagrams that aligned the window-pane prior.

                ‘Roadgrabber…’ Thundercracker straightened himself up, forgetting Acid Storm immediately. ‘Report.’

                ‘We, uh, got everything done here, sir.’

                ‘What is _that_ supposed to mean.’

                ‘It means the creatures of this planet handed over the information within fourty-five seconds of threatening them with the bombardment. We know where Obsidian is.’

                Thundercracker paused for a moment, then suddenly pumped both of his fists. ‘Ho-yes!’ He turned to Slipstream. ‘I can’t remember the last time something actually went right for a change.’

                Slipstream shrugged, ‘Yeah, it only took threatening tiny defenseless organics with fiery death to do it. Who woulda thunk?’

                Roadgrabber cleared his throat. ‘So hey, um. Boss. Do you think we can, you know, drop the nukes on them anyway? Please? It will be hilarious.’

                ‘Uhhh,’ Thundercracker thought about it for what could have been half a second. ‘No. Obviously not.’

                Roadgrabber hung his head low. ‘Awww…’ The visual turned off.

                Thundercracker turned to the other Seekers, as well as Acid Storm who remained on the floor, petrified with fear.

                ‘Well, uh… I guess… back to work!’ Thundercracker declared.

\-----

                Lockdown whipped his hook, across Swindle’s desk, sending data-pads clacking onto the floor along with a mug that read “Galaxy’s #1 Arms Dealer”.

Swindle scrambled to gather them back into a pile. Save for the mug which he admitted to being embarrassed about, as it had been a gift from Dirge, and he rarely accepted gifts if they were handmade. ‘Hey! Watch it! You keep this up and I’ll keep docking your pay!’

                ‘This is ridiculous!’ Lockdown spat. ‘I already fulfilled the bounty! I delivered Grimlock to your doorstep—I received your creds! Now you’re just going to take it all away—pretend it never happened? Because _you_ let him escape.’

                ‘Well yes!’ Swindle piled the data-pads back on his desk and sat in his chair. ‘Minus the latter portion of that assertion, yes! I order a package, you deliver the package, I pay you. It’s what some people might describe as a _transaction._ You failed to fulfill your side of the _transaction._ And as a result, I fail to uphold mine. ’

                Lockdown growled, and brought a hand to his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. ‘Alright. Fine. You want Grimlock? I’ll find you Grimlock. Again. It will be only a matter of time before he tries something… stupid. He’ll be back in your hands in only a matter of time.’

                Swindle shot him a pair of thumbs up as the bounty-hunter turned to leave. ‘I knew you’d see it my way eventually. Take care now. Happy hunting. Ta-ta.’ As soon as Lockdown was out of the room, however, Swindle’s servos morphed into a pair of middle digits sticking upward. Deciding it had been a long night, Swindle retired to his recharge slab in his personal quarters.

                There, he laid down, turning off all the blinking lights and flickering computer systems.

                He fell into stasis.

\----

**Long ago**

‘Move, Combaticons!’ Onslaught shouted over the sound of the storm. ‘We take this hill; we gain access to the launch pad. We gain access to the launch pad, we can join the battle on Hell’s Point!’

                The five Combaticons trenched through the muck of Triton’s wilderness. The launch pad had been kept secret for years in case the need for a backup escape-route was needed. Today, the Combaticons were going to need it to reach the mobile Decepticon air base of Hell’s Point. Of course, there was also half an army of Decepticons chasing them down, but that was beside the point. They were to join the Autobot forces stationed there. After all, the Combaticons were the Autobots’ greatest commando unit the Elite Guard had to offer.

                Swindle hated it. He hated the muck. He hated the march. He didn’t even particularly like this sorry group of soldiers he found himself partnered with. And hell, who thought calling an Autobot sub-group “Combaticons” was a good idea anyway? So what if it meant “Combat the Decepticons”, it still sounded like they were a Decepticon subgroup. He just—

                ‘Onslaught, you will _not_ believe this.’ Blast Off reported, ‘but I just received a transmission over the frequency. Apparently we’re too late. Or, well, not too late, but— we won! Hell’s Point has fallen!’

                Onslaught turned to frown at him briefly before marching on. The Decepticons were behind them. ‘No matter. I mean, yes, excellent.’ He continued on. ‘Regardless, we must reach the launch-pad, otherwise we—.’

                As if jinxing it, the top of the hill appeared to have exploded into a wall of flames. A mortar had struck the launch-pad. They knew what they were planning.

                There was silence among the group, finally, Vortex spoke up. ‘Onslaught, what do we do?’

                ‘We can fight ‘em,’ suggested Brawl.

                ‘We can’t fight them,’ said Blast Off. ‘There’s at least fifty of them. Even for us, that’s…’

                Vortex grabbed Onslaught by the wrist. ‘Onslaught… what do we do?’

                ‘They’ll send back up,’ Onslaught said, after a moment’s pause. ‘The Autobots will send back up. They’ll have to.’

\-----

‘You were abandoned. Betrayed. Left for the keeper of the Pit to take you across the river spawn. The condition of which you five were left in may very well have been considered an execution on your master’s part.’ Megatron raised his blade. The five Combaticons stood barely held together. Vortex had a large hole just above his spark-chamber, Blast-Off had been missing his wings, Brawl was dented all over, with what seemed to be teeth sticking out of his fists, Swindle luckily appeared to have avoided the most damage, but was still rather scathed, all things considered. Onslaught had taken the worst of it. His legs whittled down to mere stumps. In spite of this, he barely seemed fazed.

Slowly, Megatron lowered the sword to Onslaught’s shoulder. ‘I thus christen thee Decepticons. Warriors tasked with the destruction of the elite, and the rise of the oppressed. Will you accept your new title?’

‘Yes,’ Onslaught replied. Soon, each of the Combaticons agreed. Even Swindle. He never liked the Autobots anyway. Too restrictive.

\-----

                ‘Brawl! On your left!’ Onslaught shouted, firing missiles from his shoulders into an Autobot berserker.

                Brawl in turn spun himself around, delivering a hefty punch into an Autobot soldier, sending them several yards into the blackened dirt.

                Swindle activated all his internal weaponry, they were surrounded, as always. It was all Onslaught’s fault for misjudging Sentinel’s apathy towards his own troops. He should have known Sentinel’s strategy would involve wearing them down with waves of troops the Prime deemed expendable.

                ‘We need to retreat!’ Vortex called from above.

                ‘No!’ Onslaught boomed. ‘I refuse! I refuse to let this plan fail! It’s perfect. It _was_ perfect. I just—,’

                ‘Onslaught, please,’ Vortex continued over their comms. ‘I know you want to pretend we don’t make mistakes, but, well, we need to face facts. Things aren’t about to get much—,’

                A missile struck Vortex, sending the Cybertronian helicopter spinning through the air in a wreath of flames.

\-----

                The Combaticons stormed the Elite Guard’s Cantonment. Bullet-fire defiling the walls, and ripping apart several data-screens and plexiglass cabinets housing meaningless awards and honours belonging to the Guard.

                Autobots bolted around corners only to be quickly dotted with wide, obsidian holes.

                ‘Excellent work on these Scatter Blasters, Swindle,’ Onslaught commended, reloading a clip.

                Swindle smirked. ‘What can I say? Faster cooldown rate, _and_ a heftier punch than its older brother Path Blasters.  No need to thank me. Just taking one for the team.’ Quietly, he murmured. ‘And one out of my wallet…’

                ‘What did you just say?’

                ‘Noth—what? I didn’t say—I didn’t say anything! That’s crazy. You’re crazy!’

                ‘Just up ahead, Onslaught!’ Blast Off reported. ‘Vortex is being held in the room just ahead of us!’

                ‘Understood. Combaticons—full speed ahead!’ A pair of thrusters emerged from Onslaught’s shoulders, propelling him forward. Before any more Autobots could appear, the four Combaticons burst into the interrogation room where Vortex was held.

                Inside, Vortex was strapped onto a metallic chair in the center of the room. His arms were missing, as were his legs. He was a torched, blackened torso with a shattered visor and several loose cords spilling from his neck.

                Onslaught nearly collapsed when he saw him. ‘Vortex…’

                ‘Readings say he’s alive.’ Blast Off said, shaking his head. ‘But not for long. The monsters must have squeezed whatever they could out of him, and more.’

                Onslaught clenched a fist as Brawl lifted Vortex out of the chair. ‘Then we get out of here. We won’t be fulfilling the rest of the plan. Our main priority is getting Vortex to safety.’ He turned around, gesturing for the others to follow. ‘Now let’s go. The faster we move the faster we—‘

                The Combaticon Leader’s upper torso exploded into a ball of flames. Black viscera splattered on the walls as his body collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor. Blast Off screamed as Brawl tore a hole in the nearest wall to make their escape.

Swindle stood there dumbfounded. Watching as an entire squadron of Autobots began to flood into the room. Sentinel Prime stood at their rear. His raised Ion Blaster smoking.

‘Swindle! Grab Onslaught! We need to move!’ Brawl roared.

‘Swindle!’

\-----

‘Swindle!’

                The arms dealer’s head was spinning. Events began to meld into one another until It all became a mess of sound and colours unfamiliar to Swindle.

‘We can save him, but we need someone to donate—,’

‘You can’t do this! In your state—,’

‘After all your sacrifices to the cause I hereby select you three to act as my personal council—

‘We’re all dead! The Combaticons died as a collective ever since Sentinel pulled the—,’

\-----

‘Swindle!’

The arms dealer woke with a start. Oversized optics practically fizzing from the information overload. This happened every night. This time was worse than others, however. He wasn’t sure what could have been causing these flashbacks. Out of all the Combaticons, he was by far the most apathetic. He couldn’t care less what had happened to them. So why now? What could have brought him to start caring now all of a sudden?

He heard his name, and raised his head. ‘Come in.’

                After a moment of silence, Dirge entered the room. ‘Boss! I—sorry, were you sleeping?’

                Swindle sighed. ‘Yes, but so be it. Money never sleeps.’ He paused, realizing how stupid that saying was. ‘What do you want?’

                ‘Message from Lockdown. Apparently his guys have found an intruder skulking around the premises. Thought you should know.’

                Swindle sighed again, and rolled over on his berth. ‘Thank you for notifying me, Dirge. Let me know how it all… works out once everything’s sorted and dealt with.’

                ‘Uh… sure.’ Dirge said before preparing to leave. ‘You want me to turn the lights off on my way out?’

                ‘ _Yes,_ Dirge.’

\-----

                ‘He went this way—I _saw_ him!’

                Blitzwing sighed as he followed the hulking mass that was his partner. ‘Lugnut, please. There’s nothing there. You’ve put everyone on edge just because you _thought_ you saw something out of the corner of your eye. Eyes. One of your five eyes, I mean.’

                Lugnut growled as he rounded a corner. The factory complex was lined with dank alleyways and catwalks from between the dozens of crates and buildings that surrounded them. Blitzwing darted after the giant as he fumed. ‘I know what I saw. There is an intruder amongst us. And if we do not heed caution now....’

                ‘Look, we both know you’re only doing this because you lost to Grimlock in a fight and feel the need to prove yourself.’ This time, when Lugnut rounded a corner, Blitzwing did not immediately pursue him. ‘Way to go, you did it. You’ve proven yourself. Now can we _please_ go back to bed? I could _really_ go for some—.’

                ‘Found you!’

                The sounds of gunshots and explosions echoed from the other side of the corner as bright flashes of light reflected against the nearest crate in Blitzwing’s field of vision. Suddenly, silence.

                ‘Lugnut?’

                That wasn’t a good sign. Especially when Lugnut was concerned. Realizing this, Blitzwing darted around the corner to find Lugnut lying in a pool of his own Energon. The cords on his neck snapped, and his optics dimmed. He appeared to have been alive, but in stasis. Next to him was a crouched figure. It was leaking just the same, though unlike Lugnut, it actually appeared to have been conscious. It didn’t look Cybertronian to Blitzwing. It looked like some kind of humanoid snake, or a scorpion.

                ‘What _are_ you?’ Blitzwing asked, approaching the creature.

                Really?’ It spoke. ‘You really have no sense or inclination as to who I might be?’

                ‘Never seen anything like you,’ Blitzwing replied, raising his blaster. ‘Whatever you are, you’re intruding on our employer’s turf. Which means that you best surrender ‘less you want to be scrap.’

                The creature chuckled weakly. ‘You really don’t know who I am?’

                ‘Nope. On the count of three—,’

                The creature burst forward, grabbing Blitzwing by his wrists before tackling him to the ground. ‘There’s an entire Decepticon squadron after me and you can’t even begin to guess my name? Tell me you’re joking. Tell me you at least vaguely recognize me!’

                Blitzwing only gritted his teeth as the thing dug its tendril-like servos into his throat.

Ripping the wires out of his neck, the creature shouted. ‘I!’

He smashed his fist into Blitzwing’s face, causing his visor to flicker on and off. ‘Am!’

His tail coiled downward, piercing through the triple-changer’s mid-section. ‘ _OBSIDIAN_!’

After a few seconds without the necessary connective wiring needed to connect the brain to the spark, Blitzwing fell into stasis.

Obsidian rolled off of him. Leaking dark pink Energon from his chest and shoulders. He was gasping for air, mandibles shivering. Wiping his brow, the strategist hovered once more. Skulking away into the shadows. His neck cracked painfully as he jerked his head roughly to the side, wincing briefly before letting out a sigh. He was losing Energon fast. He wasn’t going to survive at this rate. ‘Well then!’ He announced suddenly. ‘Back to business.’

The strategist’s optics narrowed as he observed the night sky above. ‘I miss Strika.’ He drawled.


	69. The Distraction

Thus began the mission. Grimlock and his Dinobots had taken it upon themselves to skulk around the first lines of security while Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia and Jazz did their part. What Prime couldn’t help but find surprising was the fact that they had been completely unimpeded in their travel from the Ark to the reception. Even as they entered the main lobby—or at least, the place where one was supposed to go in order to enter Swindle’s estate, but simply hadn’t until now because of either a lack of physical clients or a bizarre need for his visitors to break into his property—they were surprised to find no one waiting to greet them. Optimus strolled up to the main desk. It clearly hadn’t been dusted in a long time, causing the Prime to wrinkle his brow in mild annoyance. There was a potted plant sitting on the edge of the table next to a small silver bell. Quickly, Optimus tapped the bell, let it ring, and waited with his arms folded over the desk.

                Blackarachnia and Jazz observed the antique paintings aligning the walls of the lobby while Ironhide stood behind Optimus on the alert. His head perked and optics darting from one side to the other in anticipation of any sudden threats.

                Blackarachnia raised the side of her mouth in disinterest as her four optics turned to Prime. ‘So… wait, what now? Are we actually waiting for someone to show up so they can let us in?’

                ‘Basically,’ Optimus said without looking back.

                ‘Grimlock’s _did_ say it’d take a couple dozen astro-seconds for Swoop to bypass Swindle’s auto-gun security,’ Jazz said absentmindedly. He had been observing a painting of Leo Prime. The white and gold Warrior was posed before a flaming background. He was depicted facing off against the detestable Destron Commander Dreadlock. His dark body blanketing half of the painting like a swarm of black insects. ‘We’ve got plenty of time to kill ‘til then.’

                Blackarachnia scratched the back of her helm. ‘I guess? But man, we’re here to pull a distraction, aren’t we? I don’t see why we don’t just get started immediately and barge right in. Being civil is kind of the opposite of what we should be doing.’

                ‘She has a point, Prime,’ Ironhide mumbled. ‘I wouldn’t be averse to charging in guns blazing either.’

                Optimus tapped the side of his faceplate with his index finger. ‘We could. We definitely could. But I am of the opinion that we can afford to play along with what Swindle’s henchman expect of us before the opportunity is ripe.’

                Blackarachnia raised a brow at him. ‘Until the opportunity is… wait, what?’

                Optimus turned himself over to face Blackarachnia. ‘You know, until we can start springing all the captives. Someone leads us to where the prisoners are, we bop them on the head, we set the prisoner’s free. Simple. Otherwise they’ll probably have some kind of fail-safe, should they know we’re coming.’

                Blackarachnia shrugged. ‘I guess.’

                Ironhide nodded slowly.

                Optimus squinted at them. ‘What?’

                ‘Nothing,’ Blackarachnia replied with a wave of her claw. ‘You are absolutely right. It is definitely worth taking this kind of precaution in the face of danger. All hail the Prime and his endless knowledge. Yadda, yadda.’

                ‘But?’

                ‘But knowing us, we can probably handle it.’ Jazz said, turning away from the painting. ‘I mean; we _do_ have Ironhide here, and I’m specialized in close combat. Hell, we’re all pretty dang privy as to what BA can do. Take the issue of the Imperium out of this, and we kind of have this in the bag.’

                ‘But?’ Optimus repeated.

                Blackarachnia raised her claws. ‘Optimus, they have, like, _two_ guys. Five if you count Lockdown’s little group, but it’s not like we’re going to be fighting all of them at once—as much as I totally could. We’re a distraction. All we have to do is _not die_ in their presence and we’re golden! I’ll probably be tossing younglings in the way of their blasts any-who, so I know _I’ll_ at least survive.’

                Ironhide grunted. ‘And my trigger-finger’s getting itchy. Just sayin’.’

                Optimus raised his palms. ‘Okay. I hear you. I understand your plights. I just think it’s best either way that we take pre-caution—,’

                Suddenly, a door opened from behind the reception desk, and a haggard Thrust bolted in, panting with his hands on his knees as he made his way behind the desk. He draped one arm over the counter and grinned weakly up at Optimus. ‘Hey there, sport.’ He coughed. ‘God…  I’ve just been… I’ve just been all over. Like… frag. I have no idea what Swindle would do without me. I seriously don’t know what Swindle would do without me. Did you know we’re only two guys running this place?’

                Optimus felt three sets of optics gazing upon him and sighed.

                ‘Seriously. It’s just me and Dirge here. Lockdown had a couple of guys, but they got assaulted in some alleyway or something…’

                ‘Wow, that sucks, man,’ Jazz said, trying to sound empathetic.

                ‘Yeah— they’ll get better. But then again, they probably deserved it. It _does_ make things a little complicated though since we thought you guys were the ones behind it, but since you’re here… yeah, that’s going to be a whole other thing. Did I mention I had to do recess duties all to myself as well? Not to mention _rocked_ at it?’ He whipped his head backwards, as if to sweep some imaginary hair out of his eyes. ‘Yeah, whaddup.’

                Optimus slowly clasped his hands over the counter and cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, we’ve been giving it some thought, and we think we want to have another look around. See what might interest us.’

                Thrust grinned. ‘Well that’s good news. Already I’m attracting customers. Alrighty, chaps, follow me!’

                After a while, Optimus once again found himself following Thrust through the halls of the holding areas. Where the “ _products”_ resided. Jazz and the others followed him closely behind, wary of the Decepticon.

                ‘Just shout if something catches your eye. Anyway, since Dirge has been moved onto surveillance after Lugnut’s little accident, I’ve been tasked with doing all this other scrud myself. Not that it’s anything I can’t handle. In fact, I took care of an escape attempt all by myself this morning. Two bots tried escaping again and I just, heh, walloped them. They tried fighting me, but then I just gave them the old Thrust-thrust. It was pretty sick if I do say so my—’

                ‘Waaaait,’ Jazz said with a groan. ‘Thrust-thrust?’

                ‘Yeah, that’s what I’ve been naming my punches. It’s a thing, now. I’ve been making it a thing for the past three months.’

                ‘I think three months is long enough for any “thing” to exist.’ Jazz said with a faux smile.

                ‘Hah, that doesn’t make sense, but whatever. Point is I handled it all by myself. Which means I ought to get a promotion by now. I don’t know what is above “body-guard” but I want to be it.’

                Optimus turned around to see Jazz, Ironhide, and Blackarachnia walking with their heads low and their weapons drawn, unbeknownst to Thrust.

                ‘Not yet!’ Optimus whispered to them.

                Jazz shrugged. ‘I know I don’t say this very often: but I kind of want to hurt this guy, chief.’

                Blackarachnia nodded. ‘Yeah man, he’s bragging about hurting children.’

                ‘Weren’t you just saying how you were going to throw children into the line of fire—,’

                ‘That was taken out of context.’ Blackarachnia said quickly.

                ‘Just say the word, Prime.’ Ironhide said, cannons blazing. ‘And Thrust will have thrusted his last… thrust.’ He stared at his feet for a moment, cannons still raised. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

                Optimus tilted his head and sighed.

                Thrust continued rambling, completely oblivious of the conversation occurring behind him. ‘And man, would Swindle be happy if—,’

                ‘Sorry.’ Optimus clasped his hands into a ball and slammed it against the back of Thrust’s head, knocking him to the floor.

                Optimus turned to the others. ‘There happy n—?’

                ‘OW!’

                Optimus turned around to see Thrust rolling onto his side, massaging his head carefully. ‘Did you just—? Were you trying to knock me out?’

                Optimus panicked. ‘Crap, he’s still awake! Ironhide, do something!’

                Ironhide rushed forward and smashed his fist into Thrust’s helm, knocking him out indefinitely.

                Optimus took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Well, that’s accomplished.’ He looked around. The younglings present in the cells aligning the hallway stared at him in bug-eyed silence. Optimus narrowed his optics. ‘It just hit me, there’s probably a ton of surveillance cameras here.’

                ‘Yep,’ Jazz said as he began working on disabling the nearest cell.

                ‘Which means trying not to be seen while breaking out the captives was kind of pointless.’

                Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz groaned collectively.

                After a moment’s notice, Jazz stood from the bars and clasped his hands together. ‘Alright, guys, you want the good news? Or the bad news?’

                ‘Bad news.’ Ironhide rumbled.

                ‘I don’t know how to power off all these cells at once.’

                ‘And the good news is?’ Optimus asked.

                ‘One of these cells is connected to the main conductor. Meaning if Ironhide starts blowing apart these walls with those fancy cannons of his…’ Jazz smiled at him, intending for the weapons specialist to finish his train of thought.

                Ironhide stared at him and blinked.

‘He’ll…’

The weapons specialist tilted his head to the side.

‘Well, first he’ll finish my sentence, and then he’ll...?’

‘Oh,’ Ironhide raised his cannons to the nearest cell. ‘Sooner or later I’ll hit the one connected to the main conductor. Of course.’

Blackarachnia slapped her face with one of her claws and shook her head.

                Ironhide opened fire on the nearest cell, creating a massive hole next to the laser-grid sealing the robot inside. An alarm began to wail overhead, which was promptly blown apart once more by Ironhide’s cannons. More sirens could be heard in the distance. In seconds, the grid dissipated, and a dazed robot stumbled out from the cell.

                ‘Well, that’s one down.’ Optimus said, approaching the young-bot. ‘What’s your name, son.’

                ‘People here call me Overshoot,’ The bot replied. ‘And please don’t call me son. It’s weird.’

                Optimus gave him a thumbs up and turned to the others. ‘Alright, let’s keep things moving and get this riot underway.’

                ‘Did somebody say “riot?”’

                A Decepticon approached the team from the shadows. He was tall, and dark. His voice was low and gravelly. He was Dirge.

                ‘Oh, you’re that quiet guy that’s always hanging around with Thrust,’ Jazz said nodding to him. ‘You’re in charge of surveillance around here I reckon?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘And you came to deal with us on your own?’

                ‘Not quite,’ Dirge replied. ‘I have dispatched a patrol of automated drones to hone in on your position and tranquilize you.’

                ‘So where are they?’ Optimus asked, scanning the area for a sign of threat.

                Dirge lowered his head. ‘Unfortunately, they are… slow.’

                ‘Slow?’

                ‘Very slow. But they are on their way from their release platform, and will be here eventually, I assure you.’

                Optimus folded his arms. ‘Until then, I suppose we’ll just have to deal with… I’m sorry, who are you again?’

                ‘That’s Dirge,’ Blackarachnia said, quietly. ‘I know him. Sort of.’

                Ironhide, Optimus and Jazz turned to her in surprise.

‘Wait, do you know him? Or do you _know him_ know him.’ Jazz asked. ‘Because either way, that makes this hella awkward.’

                Blackarachnia raised her claws. ‘Nah, Smiles, it’s not like that. Most Decepticons know him. Well, any Decepticon who’s lost somebody, at least. He’s the official Decepticon crypt-keeper. Or at least he _was_. I’m assuming that since instead of skulking around here, as crypt-keeper he’d be busy keeping in his… um, crypt.’

                Dirge nodded sagely. ‘That is correct. I was relieved of my services after the hall of the dead was destroyed by Ignition Prime’s squadron. A horrid disgrace to the names of the fallen.’

                ‘Well, Dirge, it’s nice meeting you,’ Optimus said, gesturing to his crew. ‘But there’s four of us… wait, adding Overshoot here there’s five of us, and only one of you.’

                Dirge almost seemed to grin underneath his seemingly permanent gloom. ‘That simply may be enough.’

                ‘Careful, Boss-bot,’ Blackarachnia said, inching back. ‘There’s something you should know about this guy. They say he’s cursed. You know, from being around the dead for so long. They say it’s… affected him. They say that one touch from his armour will kill you.’

                ‘Perhaps that is true.’ Dirge said, approaching them. His thrusters were blazing behind him, as his optics seared red and gold. ‘Dare to find out?’

                The Autobots began to slowly back away as the cone-head glided towards them, arms spread wide, as if intending to collect them all in his cold embrace.

Without a moment of hesitation, Ironhide snorted, walked up to his foe, and lightly poinked Dirge on the nose. He waited momentarily for something to happen, and when nothing did, the weapons specialist looked around at the stunned faces, and snorted again. ‘S’alright.’ Ironhide said, looking around once more. ‘S’alright.’

                Dirge looked at Ironhide for a moment, stared forward, and began to turn himself around. ‘Yeah, okay. I’m just going to leave, then. Good luck with your riot.’

                Before he could turn his back on them completely, a bolt of electricity struck Dirge in the chest, electrifying him and sending him crumbling to the ground in stasis lock. A small yellow Autobot crawled over the Decepticon’s body, shouting back at another figure behind him.

                ‘Oh man, Airazor. Did you _see_ that?! He didn’t even see me coming! Like, literally, he didn’t even know I was there! Because I was behind him! I just—PZOW! BANG! Shocked him, and he just—,’ Suddenly, the yellow Autobot seemed horrified. ‘Oh darn. I forgot the thing.’

                He turned around as a tall, purple and red robot emerged from the shadows.

                ‘Airazor, the thing! Quick! Get back, I need to do the thing again! I forgot to do the thing!’

                She only nodded and backed into the darkness. The yellow robot zapped Dirge once more, barely inflicting any damage before clearing his throat and announcing: ‘Well, I guess you could say Dirge was in for a… _shock._ ’

                Suddenly, Bumblebee barreled over laughing. Holding his gut as he crumpled to the floor.

Jazz shot the others a look that read: “So this day is all kinds of crazy, innit?”

 ‘Oh man, heh, that is so good. I think I’m actually the first person to make that joke! Airazor, as soon as we’re out of here we’re going to take the galaxy by storm. Tell me that’s not the funniest thing you’ve ever heard!’

The jet nodded, ‘Hah. Hah. Hah.’

‘Dang, I cannot tell you how sad it is that that mysterious system-malfunction you suffer from has rendered you completely unable to laugh at any of my jokes.’

‘Yes,’ she spoke quietly before stepping back into the light. ‘That is completely true and also the case.’

 Quickly, Bumblebee bolted to his feet. ‘I got it, we gotta spread this now. Quick, Airazor! Scratch what I just said into the nearest wall! We need everybody to—.’

                As Airazor had already moved on to imprint Bumblebee’s quote into the side of a cell, Bumblebee observed Optimus and his team. ‘Oh hey,’ the small bot said. ‘You’re those jerks that tried to buy Airazor!’

                ‘Yeah, that was us,’ Blackarachnia said. ‘We were mainly just buying her to help nurse the boss-bot’s headaches.’

Optimus raised his palm to the spider. ‘Hey, don’t say it like that. You make me sound like a creep.’

‘You _are_ a creep, dude.’ Overshoot, who had been standing around wondering what the hell was going on, said.

‘But those kind of disappeared as soon as she stopped sending calls for help,’ Blackarachnia finished.

Airazor ceased her carving to stare at the group.

Blackarachnia waved a claw. ‘Also hi. We’re Team Prime—or the Spacefarers. Whichever works. And we’re here to cause a prison break and generally sow chaos. We’re also murderers.’

‘Y’didn’t have to add that part.’ Ironhide grumbled.

‘It’s kinda true, though,’ Jazz shrugged as he turned to the weapons specialist. ‘Not that it’s a label I dig, but it doesn’t hurt to get it out of the way first.’

Bumblebee stared at them for a minute. ‘Huh. I mean, we were kind of handling it ourselves, since that’s kind of our thing. But yeah, I guess you guys can do your thing, too. I’m Bee. Spelt with 3s instead of Es. The tall one is Airazor.’

Airazor approached Blackarachnia slowly. ‘You’re here to save us?’

Blackarachnia grinned, and gestured to Prime. ‘Well, it wasn’t my idea exactly. I was kind of hoping to leave you guys to your hilarious fates and run away—not my fault, I was raised a Decepticon—Optimus over there is the big hero behind all this.’

Optimus brought a hand to the back of his head sheepishly. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

                Airazor appeared to smile beneath her faceplate before turning to Bumblebee. ‘We have a chance now.’

                Bee frowned. ‘What, with these guys?’ He looked them up and down. ‘I dunno. Could be a trick. Could be Swindle wearing one of his fancy suits in order to disguise himself as would-be rescuers.’

                ‘If Swindle was one of us, then who would the rest of us be?’ Jazz asked.

                ‘Also Swindle. It could be a pretty elaborate suit.’

                ‘Hey man,’ Overshoot said, gesturing to the others. ‘If what Dirge said was true—,’

                ‘Hi Overshoot.’

                ‘Hey Bee—then we should probably, like, free the rest of these guys before those security droids get here. Strength in numbers and all.’

                Optimus stared at Overshoot and nodded. ‘Right, we can save introductions for later. Autobots!’ He pointed down the hall. ‘…break things.’

                At once, the seven robots began, shooting, smashing, and cutting the captives free, raising their numbers by the minute.

                ‘This is our worst adventure yet…’ Ironhide mumbled under his breath.

                ‘Didn’t Prime die in our last adventure?’ Jazz asked.

                Ironhide paused. ‘Right, thanks for reminding me. I’ll have to judge between the two to see which is worse.’

                Optimus stared at him incredulously. ‘I _died,_ there shouldn’t be anything to judge!’

\-----

                Lockdown raised his upper lip as he observed the riot taking place from the surveillance room. Dirge didn’t fare nearly as well as he seemed to believe he would. But as far as Lockdown was concerned, that was just fine by him. As long as that brooding cone-head was out of his way, so the better. Screens surrounded the bounty-hunter, illuminating his silver face with a bluish tinge. The bounty-hunter watched as waves of products were released from their cells and joined the group Optimus was amassing. He had his suspicions regarding the whole event. He suspected Prime’s return. Prime was one of those heroic types, of course. But Prime was of no interest of him. It was the Dinobots that concerned Lockdown. Well, maybe concern wasn’t the word Lockdown was looking for. But the Dinobots were what Lockdown was after, certainly. The question was, could the Dinobots have been conspiring with these Autobots after all?

Swindle’s voice echoed over the comms: _‘Lockdown! Come on, pal, what are you doing?! If you don’t stop this madness, I will!’_

And if they were, then where were the Dinobots during this whole mess?

                Suddenly, the surveillance room doors slammed open.

                ‘We’re here to teach Swindle a lesson.’

                Lockdown turned around. He had found his answer.

                Grimlock, Sludge, Swoop, Strafe, Scorn, and several small raptorcons stood before the Bounty Hunter, weapons at the ready. Grimlock’s head was tilted to the side. ‘But I’m not against getting back at you for that little embarrassment either. Lucky we ran into you while searching the area for the surveillance room. Now, before we destroy everything in sight, shut down the main system’s battery, and take everything Swindle holds near and dear.’ Grimlock began to change shape, transforming into a giant thunder lizard. He let out a roar, flames spewing from his mouth. ‘GIVE US THOSE TAPES!’


	70. Chapter 70

                ‘You didn’t tell me they had auto-turrets built on the INSIDE the building!’ Grimlock snapped, hunched against the wall outside the surveillance room in beast mode. Lockdown had activated the system’s internal defenses, and in seconds, multiple sets of Gatling-guns sprouted from the walls surrounding the main surveillance computer. A storm of bullets hailed across the entrance to the room, preventing any of the Dinobots from entering without being torn apart. A small raptoricon charged in as it appeared the bullets had stopped, only to be ripped to shreds by another wave of fire.

                Swoop massaged the back of his head, ‘I _did_ check the outside perimeter. I definitely picked up on all the security on the _out_ side. _That_ you can’t fault me for. I just didn’t think Swindle would have indoor security so… advanced. I mean, Gatling guns? Those things are like the Trannis Inquisition. _Nobody_ expects them. Some pea-shooters _maybe._ Some slow-ass drones, _perhaps._ But Gatling guns? Hell, we should have stuff like this in _our_ base.’ He stopped to consider what he was saying. ‘I feel like I’m setting myself up for some kind of advertisement here. Like Swindle’s going to bust through a wall and give me a discount on Gatling Turrets. You ever get weird expectations like that? Because sometimes I—.’

                ‘SWOOP!’ Grimlock roared, flames spewing from his maw. ‘Shut your stupid. Beaked. face! I’m trying to _think!_ ’

                The other Dinobots blades and cannons around the edges of the door and fired aimlessly into the room.

                ‘STOP!’ Grimlock snapped, swatting at Sludge’s wrist with his tail. ‘We need those surveillance tapes!’

                ‘Then come and get them, Dinobot,’ Lockdown taunted. He had been standing, confidently in the center of a battalion of turrets, his own blaster raised and charged. ‘I was surprised to find you here of all places. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever understand why you brainless reptiles would attack the surveillance room of all places first. But now that I’ve taken the time to consider it, I’d say I’m even more shocked by the fact that you’d go through all this trouble just to expose this place with some security footage. The Prime I’d understand, but you, Grimlock? Does the Black Knight of Cybertron _really_ give a slag about what happens here?’

                Grimlock growled. ‘You don’t know me.’

                Lockdown grinned. ‘Or could it be something else entirely? Perhaps it wouldn’t matter if these tapes were destroyed? But then that would just bring me to presume there is something on these tapes that you wouldn’t want _seen_.’

                Swiftly, Grimlock transformed back into his robot-mode, and lunged for the nearest body, which, in this case, happened to be Scorn.

                The stoic Dinobot made no clear sound, but was clearly shocked by the Dinobot leader’s grip around his right shoulder. Grimlock proceeded to place Scorn in front of him as he leaped into the line of fire. Plasma-bullets rippled across the red Dinobot’s frame, shredding scales and armour from his body as Grimlock pushed forward. The other Dinobots remained behind, watching speechlessly as their comrade took the brunt of the enemy’s fire.

                Having used his living shield to its fullest potential, Grimlock tossed Scorn to the other side of the room as he rushed Lockdown, transforming once more and forming his monstrous lizard form. A pulse of flames emerged from Grimlock’s maw, destroying the nearest turret and causing it to explode on impact. Lockdown leaped from the explosion and rolled. Landing in a crouch, the bounty-hunter activated his internal weaponry- sprouting blasters and missile launchers across his frame. ‘Sacrificing your own just to get a shot at the enemy. Now _that’s_ the Grimlock I know.’

                Strafe raised a worried hand past the entrance to where Scorn was laying prone. But the continuous assault from the remaining turrets forced her to retract her limb.

\-----

                ‘To the helipad! Onward!’ Optimus shouted, brandishing his index finger forward.

‘That’s not going to be a _thing,_ is it?’ Blackarachnia moaned. ‘I don’t want “onward” to be our new battle-cry. People are going to laugh at us. People I might know.’

‘I can dig it,’ Jazz said, grinning. ‘It makes it sound like we’re a—you know—like a _proper_ battalion. Like we’re more than just four guys tryin’ to avoid dying.’

‘But that’s just it, Smiles—we _are_ just four guys trying to avoid dying,’ Blackarachnia said. ‘We don’t _need_ to make ourselves sound like anything else.’

Ironhide appeared between them, grabbing them by their backs and pushing them forward as they ran. ‘What the two of you _need_ is to pick up the pace! Now quit prattling and follow Optimus!’

Optimus led the charge. They had freed at least twenty captives, and had been on their way to the helipad on top of the factory complex. From there the Ark would be able to beam up what captives they had already released, before turning back to release another wave for collection.

                It was obvious from the Prime’s expression that he was displeased with what he could accomplish, or rather, fail to accomplish, in rescuing the younglings. A couple of such younglings were less than willing to follow him to freedom. Not because they were scared, or feared what Swindle would do to them, but simply because they felt to do so would be to abandon their home. To abandon their purpose. They truly believed what Swindle was doing for them was in their best interests, and for the briefest of moments, Optimus questioned whether what Swindle was doing was right after all. He quickly perished the thought, and moved on to those he could still save. With a small army of younglings following him, Optimus sprinted to the next staircase.

                ‘Trouble up ahead, Chief’ Jazz muttered.

                A column of box-shaped robots on treads rolled around the upcoming corner and into view. They were armed with large Gatling cannons on either side of their bodies, though it was clear from their speeds that they had been the drones Dirge had warned them about.

                Optimus shouted as the turrets began to spin. ‘Everyone hit the deck! NOW!’

                The group scattered as the cannons rippled with stun-bullets. As Optimus had suspected, the drones could not aim down. A youngling or two were hit by stray bullets, forcing them into stasis-lock.

                ‘Nobody get hit!’ Optimus shouted.

                Blackarachnia began to add, ‘And nobody state the obvious eith—ahhhh too late.’

                Ironhide grunted as he fired a pulse from his cannons, which successfully destroyed one drone in a ball of flames, but left just enough space for another to take its place. ‘Focus! We need to disable those drones before they trample us!’

                ‘Wait a klik…’ Bumblebee stood up, realizing the bullet-fire sailed passed his head even at standing height. He was merely too short for the drones to hit him. He stared at the drones gloomily as the others watched on.

                ‘Um… Excellent, Bee!’ Optimus exclaimed, ‘Due to your… unique size, you can get close and disable the drones before… er.’

                ‘Shut the friggity, frag up!’ Bumblebee yelled, activating his stingers. ‘Do you know how embarrassing this is for me?!’ He began walking over to the drones as he continued his grumbling. ‘First I’m not tall enough to play Cyber-Ball, _then_ I’m not tall enough to be allowed to wield a pick-axe, and now – low and behold – I’m _apparently_ not even tall enough to _die?!’_ He fired a beam of electricity at the nearest drone, causing it to short circuit and rotate on a swivel. The drone proceeded to open fire on its comrades, turning the remaining treaded blocks into smoldering carcasses of slag. ‘That’s just not fair! It’s like the whole universe is out to get me!’

                Jazz scratched the side of his head as he rose to his feet. ‘I uh, don’t think I’d consider that a flaw, kiddo, but if dying’s really your thing then hey, who am _I_ to judge.’

                ‘Trust me on this one, Jazz,’ Optimus said, checking over the other younglings. ‘Dying’s _nobody’s_ thing. Now let’s move. The helipad is just up this staircase.’

                As they ascended the spiraling stairs, Optimus began to feel unease creeping through him. The others were right. This was easy. Everything went exactly as planned and to little resistance. Aside from Lockdown and his mechs (who had no real quarrel with him in the first place), Swindle had few bodies capable of contesting Team Prime. He shouldn’t have had any real worries to begin with, and yet…

                They reached the helipad one by one, first Prime, then his team, then Bumblebee and Airazor, and then the rest. The helipad was a wide open circular space, with a few large docking crates forming a semi-circle around the pad. One of Grimlock’s Raptoricons was to fly the ship over to pick them up, but they had yet to receive the order to do so. Before Optimus could send the message, Ironhide spoke up.

                ‘Prime, twelve o’clock!’

                Prime followed Ironhide’s line of sight to find Swindle, flying a beige sky-sled over towards them from the other side of the heli-pad. The sled came to a halt before descending at the other end of the helipad. The former Combaticon stepped off, and clapped his hands together once, before raising them still clasped, to his mouth. ‘Alright, let me get this straight. Knowing that the Vestial Imperium supports me—knowing you will be tried, and possibly executed for interfering with Imperium affairs—you attempted to raid, assault, and steal from _my_ business?’

                ‘The Imperium will know what you’re doing here, Swindle!’ Optimus declared. ‘Grimlock is retrieving your surveillance tapes as we speak. Once we provide the evidence to the Imperium, you _will_ be shut down _. Permanently_.’

                ‘Do you _really_ expect—,’

                ‘I _know_ the Imperium, Swindle. They may not be Autobot or Decepticon, but they do care about the rights of Cybertronians. When they learn what you are doing—what you are _really_ doing—to these protoforms, then there will be nowhere for you to run.’

                Swindle lost his sarcastic grin. ‘Alright. I get it. That’s fair. Pick a number.’

                Ironhide frowned at the suggestion. ‘What?!’

                Swindle stared at the group, massive eye-lids blinking over his oversized optical lenses. ‘Pick a number.’

                Blackarachnia scowled. ‘I don’t think it’s worth answering him Prime. I’ve done this kind of mind-game before—Swindle’s definitely up to something fraggy.’

                Optimus glared at the former Combaticon, and answered. ‘Seven.’

                Swindle shrugged. ‘Alright then, lemme just…’ he began tapping in a set of commands into his wrist. ‘Annnnd ENTER.’

                In seconds, seven of the younglings began shrieking in pain, clutching their heads and falling to their knees. Their bodies convulsed outwardly, as if to forcefully eject something from their systems.

                Bumblebee rushed to the nearest of the seven and began shaking them by the shoulders. ‘Overshoot! What is it, buddy? Actually, buddy might be stretching it but— still, tell me what’s wrong so I can help!’

                Optimus whipped his head from the younglings to Swindle. ‘What the hell are you doing to them?!’

                Swindle merely raised his hands defensively. ‘Hey, hey. You’re the one who forced my hand here. You could say I let a virus get into my system—that virus being you, of course—so to inoculate that, I am operating a, er, soft reboot.’

                All at once, Overshoot and the others stopped moving altogether. Overshoot raised his head slowly.

                Bumblebee smiled at that. ‘Hey… you’re okay now. Geez, guy, you had me worried for a minute there. I don’t like to come off as a guy who worries about people, so you kind of just caused the most embarrassing moment of my life—.’

                ‘This unit requires self-designation.’ Overshoot stated.

                Bumblebee reared his head back in shock. ‘What the—?!’

                Ironhide snarled, taking a large step towards the Combaticon as Jazz and Blackarachnia held him back. ‘What have you done you Decepticon punk!?’

                Swindle shrugged. ‘Like I said, a soft reboot. Each one of my products is equipped with a state-of-the-art _Cerebros Circuit_. Protoforms acting out of line? Wish to revert to your original specs? Say no more! With this handy implant you can reset a Cybertronian’s processor to the day they were forged! Now I _do_ sell these for a high price, and I haven’t been able to outfit some of our newer models because of a shortage of stock, but by all means I highly advocate—,’

                ‘C’mon, man!’ Blackarachnia shouted, still struggling to restrain Ironhide. ‘We get it, you’re an ignorant jerk. You don’t have to rub it in our faces.’

                ‘Alright! Point is, try anything against my business again, and I will reduce each and every one of these bots into balls of lifeless obedience. I’m not too thrilled with the concept myself, but as a professional I _do_ plan to take whatever measures necessary to ensure that everything is running smoothly.’ He grinned at Optimus. ‘Now, if you’d please…’

                Heat sizzled from Prime’s optics as he glared at the former Combaticon. He brought an index finger to the side of his head. ‘Grimlock. The mission’s a bust. Retreat.’

                _‘What?!’_ Came Grimlock’s reply. _‘You have got to be joking! I have Lockdown on the defensive. Everything is going… smoothly. Aside from the fact that Scorn is dead, things are going smoothly!’_

‘No, they’re not.’ Optimus said. He began to explain the situation to Grimlock, making clear the losses that were made as a result of their own mistakes.

                Grimlock would only growl.

                ‘Look,’ Optimus said. ‘If you don’t retreat to the Ark immediately, then we _will_ take it back from you, and we _will_ leave you here to rot.’

                After a moments silence, Grimlock responded. _‘Fine.’_ The connection was severed as Optimus raised his head to the grinning salesman.

                Bumblebee clenched his fist. ‘I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna shove my stingers so far up your aft that you’ll… you’ll—,’

                Airazor squeezed Bee on the shoulder, silencing him momentarily, before advancing away from the yellow youngling and towards Swindle.

                ‘Airazor!’ Optimus croaked. ‘Don’t do anything to threaten him! It’s not worth it!’

                Swindle’s grin broadened. ‘You know, the two of you, the “bird and the bee” as you call yourselves, have been a real splotch of rust on my tailpipe as of late. Every time I reset “Bumblebee” over there he just develops into the same old crankshaft. But I never felt the need to reboot _you, “_ Airazor”.’

                Bumblebee’s optics widened. ‘No.’

                ‘I think that might actually be the solution to my problem! Maybe taking you out of the picture will finally convince “Bee” over there to quit while he’s ahead. Only one way to find out.’ Swindle began tapping in a set of commands into the device on his wrist.

                ‘Swindle please, do whatever you want to me, just leave Airazor out of this. I swear I will do whatever you say! Just please, leave her alone!’

                ‘And… ENTER.’

                But nothing happened. Airazor did not shriek, nor did she hold her head in suffering. She stood, somewhat hunched over, as she was, and stared into Swindle’s deep violet optics.

                Swindle frowned, clicked the same button once more, looked up for a reaction, and frowned once again. ‘Were you not outfitted with a chip? You _are_ one of the older models, aren’t you?’

                Airazor merely stared into the former Combaticon’s optics, and muttered. ‘You _will_ fall.’ With that, she turned around to join the others, who had, if not already, begun to return to their rooms.

                ‘Well, whatever. Now, in return for the damages,’ Swindle said to Optimus, dusting off his hands. ‘I would appreciate it if you returned each product you “liberated” to their rooms. And if you are to refuse…’ he motioned to his wrist. ‘You know what happens.’

\------

                Thundercracker sat in the Nemesis’ command chair. It felt too big for him, for whatever reason, but he couldn’t say he was completely uncomfortable sitting in it. The Seeker Elite stood at attention across the bridge’s perimeter. Skywarp, Slipstream, Roadgrabber, as well as Acid Storm, and his lieutenants. ‘Activate galactic holo-visual.’

                ‘Yes, Commander,’ the Seeker known as Nacelle responded from his post.

                A bright, pixelated map of the milky-way materialized upon the bridge’s main display.

                Slowly, Roadgrabber began to step forward and gestured to the visual. In seconds, the swirling mass of stars began to expand, and the image zoomed into a more specified sector of space.

                ‘Thanks to our sources, we’ve – well, Hotlink and the other techies, at least—have traced Obsidian’s signal to the Nodian sector.’

                ‘Excellent,’ Thundercracker said indifferently. ‘Then we’ll disperse and scour the sector for his whereabouts from there.’

                ‘We may not have to,’ Hotlink replied. The purple seeker had been standing next to the brooding Acid-Storm in one corner of the bridge. The green seeker had yet to get over his brief humiliation on Thundercracker’s part.

                ‘Explain.’

                Hotlink seemed almost giddy. ‘Well, Thundercracker. I was doing some research on the sector in question, and as it turns out, an intergalactic arms dealer by the name of Swindle is currently keeping shop there.’

                Thundercracker frowned. Swindle. He had heard stories of the infamous arms dealer. That he was once a member of the just as notorious Combaticons before taking to a solo-business.

That’s when it hit him. The Combaticons. Obsidian had claimed to have been a member of such a group, back when he had attempted to recruit Optimus to his side. He was placed in charge of the second wave of Combaticons after the deactivation of some of its original members. Could Obsidian have maintained any ties to Swindle? They wouldn’t have had very long to know each other. Given how soon Swindle left the Combaticons following the emergence of the second wave. Even still, it was a place to start.

                ‘Excellent work,’ Thundercracker said. ‘Nacelle, set coursed for Swindle’s location. Knowing him we may be able to negotiate an exchange of person.’

                Skywarp scoffed. He was leaning on the wall opposite to Acid Storm. ‘I reckon we’re going to let him know we’re coming then, eh? We tell him we want to talk, he’ll welcome us into his home with open arms, exchange pleasantries and all the oil we can drink—oh we’re just going to get along as well as a litter of turbo-foxes, we are.’

                ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Thundercracker replied without sparing a glance to the purple and black seeker. ‘We’ll still use the element of surprise. If he refuses to negotiate, well, that’s what the Nemesis is for.’ He felt momentarily hesitant about the prospect of using such destructive power, but quickly quashed the thought. It was just Swindle. He could annihilate the entire planet, if it came down to it, and nobody of great import, in the end, would get hurt.

\-----

Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz made their way to the Ark, defeated.

Suddenly, Blackarachnia clapped her claws together. ‘Welp, we tried. Losing sucks, but we put in an honest effort, and that’s what counts.’ She scratched the back of her helm in thought. ‘Say, maybe if we get back to the Ark before Grimlock does, we can leave before he tries making us do something pointless for him again.’

                ‘Blackarachnia…’ Optimus said in frustration. Before he could finish his aggression, the Prime stopped, stared forward, and kept walking. ‘I want to save them.’

                ‘We know you do, boss-bot.’ Jazz said, walking beside him. ‘We’ll figure… something out. But if worse comes to worst…’

                ‘Perhaps it would be best if we chose _not_ to consider that now,’ Ironhide finished.

                ‘Er… right,’ Jazz looked up at his commander once more and frowned. ‘It’s your call, chief. Whichever way you wanna jive, we’ll be cool with it.’ He turned to the others, glaring at them through his visor, as if to threaten agreement out of them.

                Blackarachnia and Ironhide shrugged in unison.

                ‘Yeah, why not.’

                ‘Of course.’

                Optimus nodded slowly, ‘I left a communicube with Bumblebee and Airazor. So maybe we—,’

                A bullet whizzed past Prime’s faceplate, barely skimming the tip of his nose. The four bots slowly turned to the source of the bullet to find Lockdown walking towards them. The tall robot’s head morphed from a large cannon into a featureless visor of a face.

                ‘You again?’ Ironhide gruffed, charging his cannons. ‘ _Please_ tell me you’re back for more.’

                The others readied their weapons, but with a wave of his hand, Prime had them at ease. ‘Lockdown, we have no quarrel with you and you know it, what is the meaning of this?’

                Lockdown’s grin could be felt from behind his circular visor. ‘You’re right about that, to an extent. I could have killed you and claimed your bounty any time I pleased. If Decepticon Leadership were something I was interested in, I might have bothered taking your head. But it isn’t, and I didn’t. Right now, all I’m looking for is Grimlock. He and I were in the middle of a very _fascinating_  discussion just recently, but he seems to have run off.’ His grin parted. ‘And I reckon you know where he’s run off _to_.’

                ‘We’ll never tell you!’ Blackarachnia exclaimed before turning to Optimus. ‘On second thought, why _don’t_ we tell him? It _would_ kind of solve our Dinobot problem.’

                Optimus went quiet. For a moment, he considered doing just that, but his better judgement took hold. ‘No. No, Lockdown, I’m sorry, but I still need him.’

                Lockdown shrugged. ‘Well, I think I’m done questioning things for today, so for now I think I’ll just,’ suddenly, Lockdown’s head morphed into a lengthy rifle and fired a blast into Ironhide’s chest, sending the burly Autobot hurdling back. ‘Use force.’

                Blackarachnia snarled as she unfurled her stalks. ‘Now you’ve done it.’ She leaped at the bounty hunter, only for Lockdown to swing his hook, latch onto her mid-air and sending her swinging back into Jazz. The agent tried to dodge, but was quickly pulled to the ground under Blackarachnia’s weight. Despite having no weapons, Optimus flung himself at Lockdown, though it was only with a few quick swings and spins from his hook, that Optimus found himself flung around with his back turned to the bounty-hunter. Optimus watched as Jazz, Ironhide and Blackarachnia ceased what they were doing and watched. Before Optimus could turn around, he felt the barrel of a blaster press against the side of his head. Lockdown’s hook had been raised to his throat to hold him in place.

                ‘Now then,’ Lockdown said, grinning. ‘Perhaps we can re-negotiate. Tell me where Grimlock is, and nobody dies. You can trust me on that. I’m a mech of my word.’

                It was then, Lockdown noticed something peculiar about the others. The Autobots seemed distracted. As if their attention were focused on something other than—

                _Clik-clik._

Lockdown had experienced the sensation enough times to immediately recognize the position he was in. Someone had, in turn, pressed the barrel of a blaster to the back of Lockdown’s head.

                ‘Alright,’ Lockdown said to the stranger. ‘You got me, just tell me what you want from me, and I’ll give it to you.’

                ‘I am about to count down from ten,’ said the stranger. ‘If you do not release Optimus before I reach zero, then I am afraid I will have no choice but to shoot you. Which would be messy, make no mistake. Now then: Ten—,’

                Before he could reach nine, Lockdown released Optimus and raised his hands above his head. Optimus was quick to scramble away from the bounty hunter, who merely scowled in turn. ‘Alright, alright, I’ve done what you asked. Now what?’

                ‘Now?’ replied the stranger. ‘Now I will pay whatever Swindle owes you for Grimlock, you leave the Prime be, and hopefully we never see each other again.’

                Lockdown scoffed. ‘That’s real cute coming from someone I haven’t even seen yet. And besides, I highly doubt anyone can match the payment Swindle’s givin’ m—.’

                ‘Three million credits?’

                Lockdown’s optics widened. ‘Well, show me the cash, and maybe we can talk a little more extensively on the subject.’ The stranger forwarded the credits into Lockdown’s subspace mainframe, and a grin spread across the bounty hunter’s faceplate.

‘You may hunt Grimlock at your leisure… as soon as Optimus has used him to his fullest potential.’

 ‘Perfect,’ Lockdown lowered his hands and turned around. ‘I look forward to working with you… again. Now that is _disgusting_.’

The stranger, now in full view to Lockdown, was in no good shape. His armour was torn, exposing inner circuitry to the planet’s cold air. There was a light blue leakage seeping the stranger’s chest, a leakage of what Lockdown recognized as a sign of spark failure. In fact, the stranger seemed like they were going to collapse at any second. The bounty-hunter winced, and transformed into his Cybertronian muscle-car mode. ‘And here I thought you would be a little more threatening. I’d get yourself checked out if I were you. Don’t want to get infected.’

As Lockdown sped away from the Autobots, the stranger hovered closer towards them.

‘Optimus…’ Obsidian muttered, liquid dribbling from his maw. ‘I have been looking for you… I… I am here to…’

Optimus took a wide step backwards from the hovering Decepticon, and as he did so, the strategist’s rotors ceased. The Prime felt bad for not-catching Obsidian as he fell, but knelt down beside him all the same. He was in stasis-lock. That was a bad sign. It meant his systems were so low on Energon that they couldn’t afford to process movement, let alone thought. In time they wouldn’t be able to afford keeping him alive.

Ironhide and the others crowded around the body, staring at him in confusion.

Jazz scratched the top of his head. ‘Obsidian? What’s he doing all the way out here? I mean aside from leaking all over the place.’

‘Nothing good, I expect.’ Ironhide growled. He pressed a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘This might be a trap to lure us somewhere. I say we let him bleed out and act like we didn’t see anything.’

‘Yeah, I’m not sure about that,’ Blackarachnia loomed over the strategist, examining his dimmed optics and statuesque-face. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for lynching one of our arch-enemies. I’m behind murdering someone who’s been partially responsible for the scrap we’ve been through one-hundred-percent. But this guy is a living legend. Wouldn’t it be kind of – I don’t know – _bad_ just to let him die like this?’

                Ironhide thought about this for a moment. ‘Nope. He’s a Decepticon, and we’re not. Him dying is of no consequence to us. If anything, it will make our lives easier.’

                ‘Optimus rose to his feet. ‘Jazz, Blackarachnia, carry him inside.’

Ironhide’s optics widened in shock. ‘What?’

‘Be gentle with him, he won’t last long without medical attention.’

The others stared at him with similar airs of bemusement, but went to work regardless. ‘On it, Chief. You get that end, BA, I’ll get his legs—’ Jazz thought about what he was about to say for a moment before continuing. ‘I’ll get this end.’

‘I don’t think it’s a trap.’ Optimus said, ‘But that aside, I seriously have no idea how we are going to rescue these sparklings.’

                ‘We’re still on that?’ Blackarachnia asked, lifting Obsidian’s head as Jazz grabbed his tail. ‘I could have sworn we gave up on that about three minutes ago.’

                Optimus ignored her. ‘Thing is, I cannot for the hope of me think of an effective strategy to save Airazor and the others from Swindle’s program,’ that’s when he turned to Obsidian. The strategist was lying prone, liquid dripping onto the hard ground below. ‘But he _can._ ’

               

 

               


End file.
